


Sans/Toriel 30 Day OTP Challenge Collection

by raritysdiamonds



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: 30 Day OTP Challenge, A little angst, Bad Puns, Developing Relationship, Dorks in Love, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, One Shot Collection, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Undertale Neutral Route - Neutral Pacifist Ending, Post-Undertale Pacifist Route - "I want to stay with you.", but more angst in later chapters!, mostly fluff tbh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-09-14 11:57:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 53,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9180517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raritysdiamonds/pseuds/raritysdiamonds
Summary: A collection of Sans/Toriel oneshots for the 30 Day OTP Challenge!





	1. Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> whoops, there are so many other things I could/should be writing, but if you haven't figured it out by now, I am approximately 1264% Soriel trash XD so I decided to give this 30 Day OTP Challenge a shot instead!! 
> 
> Original prompts are [here](http://otp-imagines-cult.tumblr.com/post/133309701572/30daychallenge1) if you're interested! More character and pairing tags will be added with updates, which I aim to be weekly (but sometimes may be longer because life etc)! Each oneshot should hopefully stand on its own (some might reference each other but only vaguely, and I thought this would be a fun way to experiment with different endings and AUs etc) so you can read these in pretty much any order c:
> 
> first up is day one: your otp's first meeting! I know this scene has probably been written a million times, but this is my take I guess ^^;; as always, if you have any thoughts/questions/concerns I would love to hear them, and thank you so much for reading! <3

Over the years, Toriel has become quite familiar with all the little squeaks, creaks and sounds of the Ruins.

It is perhaps an inevitable consequence of living here in isolation for so long – there may have been a time when the slightest noise would have made her jump, but now she has learned to recognise the soft scrabble of a mouse skittering over a floorboard, or the rustle of the leaves scattered among the old pillars. Some days, Toriel finds herself listening eagerly for that sound, so she has an excuse to sweep the leaves back into neat little piles the following morning. Not because she expects anyone will be around to see them, but because she likes to think that, if there were, they might appreciate the sight. Besides, there is little else for her to do to pass the time.

The distinctive sounds of another person – monster or human – are something Toriel would surely recognise instantly, after many years without another soul passing through. Yet, still, she often awakes suddenly in the night, convinced she hears the footsteps of something – _someone_ – wandering the Ruins, and sometimes even a voice, a child, crying, calling out for help...Toriel rushes from her bed, her palms already alight with magic to light the way, to guide whatever poor lost soul might be out there to safety – but every time, she finds only darkness. Toriel returns to her house as alone as she left it, wondering if she can be sure that anything she hears is real any more. Wondering if, perhaps, her old mind is slowly weathering away, just like the fallen pillars of the Ruins which once stood proud and strong, until one day there will be nothing left of either of them.

But it is not in the night when she next passes through, and Toriel is as certain as she has ever been of anything that the noise coming from behind the old forest door is _very_ real, and unusual. Her ears prick up instantly as she creeps closer to the source; a low murmur, barely audible at first, but unmistakably the voice of _someone_ , another person on the other side of the door. Toriel feels her heartbeat quickening just from the thought – but before she can lean in closer, press her ear to the door to decipher what, if anything, the person is saying, two loud, distinct raps on the door make her jump back.

"Knock knock," a voice says.

Before she can properly consider her response, Toriel automatically blurts out: "Who is there?"

There is a brief silence, and then: "Dishes."

"Dishes who?"

"Dishes a very bad joke."

As it hits, Toriel starts to laugh, and soon finds she cannot stop – great, braying howls of laughter that shake her whole body until she is doubled over, clutching her belly with tears running down her cheeks. It has been so long, she realises, since she really, truly laughed – since she has had anyone around to _make_ her laugh like this. The person on the other side must think she is insane, she thinks - but it feels so good that Toriel cannot bring herself to care, and then she hears them laughing too, a softer but somehow reassuring rumble through the door.

They knock again, and again, and somehow each punchline is funnier than the last, Toriel barely managing to catch her breath in between. She shares some of her own old favourites, jokes that Asgore would visibly struggle to muster up a smile at, while Asriel would whine, " _Moooom_ , stop, you're so embarrassing", even if he would be smiling too. Now, though, Toriel feels a peculiar sense of accomplishment when she makes him – for she recognises the voice as male, low and almost monotone, but with a genuine warmth that Toriel feels even though she cannot see him, that leaves her in no doubt that he is enjoying himself – laugh too, deep chuckles that somehow only make her laugh even more, long after the joke should have grown old. She feels positively giddy, like a girl again instead of the old woman she is, until finally they can think of no more.

"So this is new," he says, after their last peals of laughter have rang out through the empty hallway. "I don't usually get much of an audience around here."

"No, I expect not." Toriel clasps her hands together, fidgeting with her paws. "I am sorry if I startled you."

"No, don't be sorry – you're the best audience I've had since, well, pretty much ever," he says with a chuckle. "Just wasn't expecting the door to start talking back, you know? But don't get me wrong – it's _great_ to meet someone who gets it."

Toriel isn't entirely sure what "it" is that she gets, but she smiles, her cheeks flushing unexpectedly at the compliment. "Well, I should say the same to you. I pass through here every day to check, but I have not come across anybody else in...quite some time."

"Heh – you could say there still is no 'body' here." Toriel frowns, unsure what he seems amused by this time, until he adds: "Wait, uh, scratch that one. It doesn't really work if you can't see me." 

"I see – or rather, I suppose, I do _not_ see," she answers with a giggle. "Then, if I may ask, what brings you to this place?" He must only have come by recently, for she would surely have heard him before otherwise.

"I got sent here a couple weeks ago. My post moves around, but the boss wanted me here for some reason. I'm supposed to be watching out for humans."

"For humans?" The news sends a nervous flutter through Toriel's stomach, but she is careful to keep her voice light. "My goodness. That sounds like a big responsibility, is it not?"

"Guess so." He does not sound too concerned, but he must mistake her silence for fear of some kind, because he adds: "Hey, but don't worry about it. My brother's in training for the Royal Guard and it's like, his dream to catch a human. No way one's getting past any time soon on his watch." After a moment, he continues: "Actually, he's probably wondering where I am right about now. I'm not usually the type to work late. Or at all."

Even if this is not the reassurance he imagines it to be, Toriel is touched by the gesture, that this stranger would even think about her safety, and she nods gratefully before remembering he cannot see her.

"Thank you. I am glad to hear it – ah, I hope I have not kept you too long! Please do go home to your brother, if you wish – I am sure he needs your company and comedic skills more than I do, after all."

"I'd agree with you, but he doesn't seem to find me nearly as humerus as you do." Toriel can hear the smile in his voice, though, and it warms her heart even through the twinge of something like envy. What a wonderful thing it was, to have family to come home to; someone to love and care for unconditionally, and they for you. Something one should never, ever take for granted. "But yeah, he's pretty cool. I'll tell you about him next time."

Toriel blinks. "Next time...?"

"Sure. If you want?" For the first time, she detects a note of uncertainty in his otherwise pleasantly laid-back drawl. "I'll be here tomorrow, anyway. Might even have some fresh material by then – but, hey, if you have mysterious-door-lady stuff to do, that's cool too."

Toriel grins, wide and foolish and now a little grateful that he cannot see her overeager response – it has truly been so long since she has conversed, _connected_ with another person like this, she had hardly dared to hope they might have the opportunity to do this again. "Oh no, I should certainly find the time! I would love to hear all about your brother – in fact," she barely manages to suppress her giggles, "I would a- _door_ it."

He laughs, a sound which is becoming one of her favourites in all the Ruins. "Good one. Lady, you're a real knockout." Toriel's glee escapes in the form of an undignified snort as she leans back against the door, hugging her knees to her chest like a child. "Oh, right, guess I should introduce myself. I'm –"

"No," Toriel interrupts hurriedly, laughter disappearing as abruptly as she can get the word out – if he tells her his name, then he will surely expect to know _hers_ , and all that comes with it. Toriel cannot bear the weight of history and expectation, presumptions and questions that she has hidden from for so long, not yet, and especially not now, after she has glimpsed the possibility of something so wonderful, something she thought she might never have again – a friend.

There is a silence, and she clears her throat, hoping she has not startled him. "I mean, um...no names, please, for now? I just think it is a little more...exciting this way."

"Okay. Sure thing." If he thinks her request strange, she cannot tell by his voice. "No names, got it. In that case, I guess I'm...nobody."

Toriel smiles, breathing a quiet sigh of relief. Perhaps, one day, she will truly be able to express her gratitude. "A pleasure to meet you, Mr Nobody. From one nobody to another – and now, I suppose I must be on my way back to...nowhere."

"Nowhere, huh? I hear that's beautiful this time of year."

"Oh, just wonderful," Toriel agrees, playing along despite the familiar pang of loneliness at the thought of her empty house. "You must come and visit sometime."

"Love to, but I, uh...can't seem to find it on my map."

"I think you will know when you are here," she tells him with a wry smile. "Well, good night."

"See ya."

Toriel lingers at the door a little while longer, until she hears him walk away, footsteps crunching through fresh snow. She wonders idly if he is cold. Perhaps, next time, she will offer him a blanket, or even a slice of warm pie if she can slide it under the door.

The thought keeps her smiling all the way home, and as she prepares her usual snail pie for one, and even as she turns her head away from the now permanently closed door when she finally retires to bed.

That night, for the first time in a long time, Toriel sleeps soundly, undisturbed by the nightly murmurings and stirrings of the Ruins past and present.

Because, for the first time in an even longer time, she has a reason to look forward to tomorrow.

 


	2. Realization

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "The first time a member of your OTP realized they had feelings for the other."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so here's day two! ft. the obligatory "tu-Toriel" line that's in like, every fic and comic ever with these dorks. Post-pacifist ending (a lot of these will be, but not all).

It was probably a couple of timelines ago that most of Sans' life stopped feeling real.

Learning just how fragile your existence really was did that to a guy, he'd discovered. You saw the same people every day, and maybe they talked and acted the same, or sometimes they'd be different – but you couldn't count on them being there, one way or another. You'd open your eyes and be right back where you started, but maybe they wouldn't remember you this time around, or you wouldn't remember them, or they wouldn't even be there at all. So there was no point getting attached – that just meant you had more to lose, when time and memories kept slipping away and you weren't even sure what actually happened or didn't, what you knew, who you _were_ any more. It made it harder to protect the people who really mattered.

Papyrus mattered, of course – Sans would have given up everything, fought with everything he had as many times as he had to if it meant his little brother had a shot at being safe, and happy. But with everyone else, it felt like he was just kind of...passing through. He'd still hang out with the gang at Grillby's, still smile and crack jokes and abuse the hell out of his tab, and occasionally he'd even spot a cute monster across the bar, and _very_ occasionally they'd even look back at him and smile. And just for a second, Sans would think _hmm, maybe_ – but then he'd remember, and turn away again.

He tried not to wonder if any of it could ever have been something more – maybe it was, somewhere in another universe or timeline, one where he had good friends and people he wasn't afraid to care about. But Sans remembered – he didn't remember who, or when, or how, but he knew deep in his soul that once there'd been _someone_ , someone else who mattered. Somehow, he'd lost them, and maybe he'd never remember what happened, but he knew somewhere back when he'd promised himself that he wasn't going to let it happen again.

(After that, Sans promised he wasn't going to make any more promises, even to himself. And then he broke _that_ promise, but hey, pobody's nerfect.) 

Somewhere along the line, though, that had started to change. Things started to get...well, _real_ again, when he'd go back to Snowdin Forest and knock on the door, and not only was Door Lady still there, she _remembered_ him, and the corny jokes they'd told yesterday, and the day before that. And then Door Lady became Toriel, and Toriel was something he'd never counted on seeing in any timeline: their queen, standing protectively in front of her child, her _human_ child, with her arms outstretched and fire blazing in her hands and her eyes. Something about seeing her then, for the first time, made Sans want to try harder, do better, _not give up_. Like maybe that happy ending everyone dreamed of, the one he hadn't believed in as far back as he could remember – maybe, if they all tried hard enough, they could actually make it happen.

And now they were free – at least in theory. They hadn't had a reset in a long time, and maybe that didn't make the creeping dread that it could all disappear at any moment completely go away, but Sans had to admit it sure made it a lot easier to deal with, seeing everyone so happy on the surface. Now he didn't have to worry whether Papyrus would come back when he announced he was heading out on patrol (which now really just meant "hanging out with Undyne") and he could just take it easy – so pretty much the same as he did in the Underground, but just _better_. Especially now, when Toriel's name flashed up on his phone and he felt that long-missing flicker of intrigue as he reached for it.

The text read: " _help_ "

 _That_ got Sans' attention, as he bolted upright from where he'd been sprawled on the couch, but before he could reply another text came up: " _helo Sand_ ".

Then: " _srdty I mesan_ ".

Sans frowned down at his phone, about to text back something like _you ok tori_ , until Toriel's smiling face filled the screen as it started to vibrate and sing: " _Spooky scary skeletons send shi-_ "

He took the call. "Hey, Tori. What's going on?"

"Hello, Sans!" She didn't sound like she was in any immediate danger. "I am sorry about those texts. I was trying to say 'hello', not 'help'! I hope I did not worry you?"

Sans smiled with relief, relaxing back on the sofa. "Nah, Tori, it's cool. Just glad to hear you're okay."

"Oh yes, thank you, I am quite well! Well, except for this phone..." Toriel sighed, her frustration audible. "You see, I wanted to text Frisk to ask how their school trip is going. But I just cannot seem to make the right words appear! The letters are too close, or perhaps my hands are just too big." After a pause, she continued, hopefully: "Alphys did say she would modify it for me, but she is not working today. If you and Papyrus are not too busy, then I don't suppose you might be able to...?"

 "Sure, Tori, anything you need – I mean, Pap's out, but I'm pretty much always here." Sans must have been more bored than he realised, because that came out way more quickly than he meant it to. "Want me to come over and take a look?"

"Oh, _would_ you? Thank you so much, Sans – you are a lifesaver! Is that how they say it? No, please, you relax and _I_ will come to _you_. I have always been quite curious to see inside your house anyway," she added with a light giggle. "In that case, I shall see you soon!"

"No problem – see ya." Sans glanced around the room as he hung up – they'd been over to Toriel's for dinner a few times, and he felt a little bad that they'd never returned the favour, but you know, he also wanted her to _live_. He just about had time to kick most of the mountain of dirty socks under the sofa before three familiar, expectant knocks sounded at the door.

As Toriel stepped inside, greeting him with a warm smile, Sans couldn't help but think how weird it was seeing _the queen_ in their house – and yet somehow also totally natural, like she'd been coming round her entire life as she looked around.

"Oh, so this is your house! What a lovely little place. I would say it suits the two of you down to the bone." Toriel shot him a sly wink, and Sans smirked back with a nod of approval as she glanced down at the rock on the table, which was liberally sprinkled with chocolate drops. "And is this...your dinner...?"

"Nope, that's Roxie. She's kind of my pet – Papyrus usually feeds her when I forget to," Sans explained. "Which is always, because she's a rock and doesn't actually need food. But, y'know, I think he secretly likes the responsibility." 

"Naturally." Toriel nodded like it made perfect sense, and she actually petted the rock. "Hello, Roxie. How lovely to meet you – I am glad to hear you are being properly cared for."

"Heh." Sans smiled, watching Toriel pet Roxie carefully with one finger – he couldn't remember when or where he'd picked her up, but Roxie had somehow become one of the more reliable things in his life. If he woke up and she was still on the table, covered with whatever they had in the fridge, he knew something had gone right, so it was nice to see her getting so much attention. "You know, Tori, I think she likes you.”

"Oh, you do?" Toriel beamed down at Roxie as though she expected her to jump up and lick her. "The feeling is mutual! And I am sorry for implying you would eat such an important family member," she added, looking back at Sans with a wry smile. "I just wondered if perhaps skeletons ate rocks."

"I mean, personally, I don't have the stomach for it," he shrugged, and was rewarded with a snort of laughter as he sat back on the couch and patted the space next to him. "So, you wanna figure out your phone?"

"Ah, yes, of course." Toriel took her place next to him, denting the cushions a little so Sans slightly fell against her side as she held her phone out to show him. "I try to text, but as you can see..."

Sans nodded along as Toriel prodded at the keypad inelegantly with her thumbs, spelling out nonsense words. He was suddenly very aware of his bare tibia touching Toriel's leg where his shorts ended – did she always feel this warm? They'd probably just never sat this close before; actually, it had been a while since they'd hung out without Frisk or Papyrus or anyone else between them. Not that it was exactly unpleasant – she smelled faintly of cinnamon, the tip of her left ear brushing his skull as she attempted to spell out Frisk's name, and he kind of wanted to fall asleep against her, just lean back into all that soft, warm fur...

"...do you think so, Sans?"

"Huh?" Sans blinked, snapping back to reality as Toriel looked down at him expectantly, and he flashed her a sheepish smile, hoping he hadn't zoned out for too long. "Oh, uh – sure, Tori, I see the problem. Hmm, maybe try using your claws?"

"My claws?"

"Like this – uh, here, let me..." Sans reached out and took one of her hands, gently moving it to each letter so she tapped it with just the tip of her claws. Her smile widened as, with Sans' help, the words started to appear on the screen.

"Oh, yes, that is _much_ better! Why did I not think of this sooner?" Toriel didn't move her hand from Sans' as she took it off the phone, grabbing it in a grateful squeeze that sent an unexpected – but not unpleasant – tingle of electricity through his bones. "Thank you, Sans! Now I will just text Frisk, and..."

She started texting – very slowly, frowning down at her phone as she tapped out the words, the small pink tip of her tongue sticking out with concentration. Sans inclined his head towards her to watch as she tapped lightly, then again harder when the first letter didn't appear, and then harder on the 'delete' button when the original letter came through three times. 

"Tori, you know what?" he interrupted, after it had stopped being cute and the wait was bordering on painful, and she was still only on the third word. "Why don't I text Frisk for you this time – you just tell me what to write. Might just be a little faster."

He hoped he hadn't offended her or anything, but Toriel nodded eagerly as she handed him the phone. "Yes, perhaps that might be for the best," she admitted with a sheepish grin. "I am several hundred years behind the times, after all. But indeed, I have always believed it is never too late to learn!" She cleared her throat. "Okay, how about: 'Dear Frisk'...no, perhaps that is too formal?"

Sans started to type " _hey frisk_ " as a kind of compromise, but Toriel immediately shook her head. 

"Proper capitalisation, please! You are setting a bad example for the child," she scolded him, but with a playful twinkle in her eye. "Perhaps this, then: 'Hello, Frisk! This is Toriel. I hope you are enjoying your field trip to the human ruins. Remember to wrap up warm and eat your lunch pack! I have included an extra slice of pie in case you want to share with your friends, as well as some dried snails in case you are hungry later on. See you soon! Love, Toriel. Happy face.'"

"Got it." Sans finished tapping out the message as she spoke – capitalisation and all – and showed it to her. "This okay?"

"That is wonderful! Except, hmm...could you possibly make the face look a bit more like me? I want it to feel like I am actually there, smiling at Frisk." 

She smiled at him as if to demonstrate, and Sans was pretty sure there was no symbol that could express how it felt to be the focus of that smile, those wide, bright eyes sparkling with joy as though he was her favourite person in the world – even if that was really for Frisk – so he just grinned back and added a ' _}:-)_ ' to the end. "How's that?"

She peered over his shoulder to look, then nodded in satisfaction. "Why, the resemblance is uncanny! Thank you, Sans. I am truly grateful for your help."

Toriel pulled him into a hug he hadn't quite been anticipating, so Sans ended up kind of falling into her arms, his face pressed dangerously close to her chest for a second before he scrambled upright, shuffling onto his knees on the couch so he could return the hug at a more respectable level, placing his arms around her shoulders and awkwardly patting her back, hoping she didn't notice how blue his face was turning. "N...no problem, Tori. Anytime."

"You must let me repay you," she insisted when they separated. "Perhaps, as you have taught me how to text, I could show you how to bake sometime? Papyrus told me about your famous, ah, 'sweet quiche'."

"He did?" _Thanks, bro_. "Seriously, Tori, you don't have to do that. It was nothing – what are friends for, right?"

"Indeed – and surely, friends cannot let friends bake sweet quiches, can they not?"

Sans laughed. "It was a _pie_. Or...pie-like. Maybe a pie's second cousin twice removed, or something like that. But fine, you've twisted my arm – I guess I  could stand to bone up on my cooking skills."

Her face lit up. "Well, it would be my pleasure to provide you with a...tu- _Toriel_." Sans could tell she'd been waiting all day to bust that one out , judging by how proud she looked when he pointed an approving finger-gun at her. "In that case, I shall text you! Or...perhaps I could call you some time?" Toriel's smile softened at the edges, fading into something a little more wistful. "This may sound foolish of me, and of course I wouldn't trade the freedom we have now for anything, but...I do miss the Ruins, sometimes. And all those days we used to sit telling jokes through the door, before all of this. I hope you will not think this strange, but – it would be nice, to talk again sometime. Like we used to."

"Those were the days, huh?" Sans had seen a lot of different futures, but whenever he thought about it, this one still got him. It was still hard to believe sometimes it was real – but at the same time, he felt more real, more _alive_ than he could ever remember back in the Underground. "Tori, we're buddies – you can call me anytime. Hey, if you want, I'll come sit outside your door and tell knock-knock jokes, just like the old days."

Toriel giggled. "Well, I would not go _that_ far. Of course you are always welcome at my door, but now I think I would prefer you tell them _inside_ , where it is warm, with me."

Right then, Sans couldn't think of anywhere he'd rather be. "Sure, Tori – whatever floats your goat," he said with a wink, and she snorted again, clasping her hands together in delight.

"Oh, that is a good one! I must remember it to tell Frisk later," she exclaimed, flashing her teeth in a final, dazzling smile that Sans couldn't help but return as he walked her the short distance to the door. "Goodbye, Sans. I will see you soon!"

"Bye, Tori. Text responsibly, okay?"

He stayed there for a moment after she'd shut the door, already grinning to himself thinking about baking with her and how she was just so...so _Toriel_ , with her kind eyes and her bright smile and her amazing laugh. How she still laughed just as hard at all their terrible jokes as the first time, and the easy, natural way she'd lean her head against Sans' when they laughed or place a reassuring hand on his shoulder, and he'd feel her warmth right through his bones. And how everything just seemed...brighter when she was around, like just seeing her smile was enough to make him feel that maybe, this time, everything really _was_ going to be okay. Like maybe he was...

...oh.

Oh _no_.

"Welp, girl," he sighed out loud, reaching out for Roxie on the table and running his fingers over the same spot Toriel had touched earlier, absent-mindedly flicking a few chocolate drops off her head and watching them fall to the floor, "looks like we're boned."

But Sans was still smiling, and he _hated_ it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading and feedback is always appreciated! <3


	3. The Reveal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "When your OTP confessed their feelings. Or were their feelings originally a secret until someone else intervened?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh god this one is so ridiculous and I'm sorry. I hope I haven't made Frisk too annoying, lol - tbh I'm not usually a fan of the "matchmaking kid" trope, but I figured here it's pretty much canon, so... 
> 
> Also, I kind of suck at writing Papyrus (which upsets me bc he's my fave), but I'm trying to kind of ease into it because I want him to be in other chapters? but yeah, constructive criticism is always welcome!!

"Mom?"

"Yes, my child?"

"Do you like Sans?"

"Why, of course I do, dear," Toriel answered, as she continued stirring the big, delicious-smelling pot on the stove. "He is one of my dearest friends. Now, where did I put those spices?"

Somehow, Frisk knew she'd say that. "No, Mom," they said patiently, "I mean – do you _like_ him? Like, as more than just a friend?"

"Hmm?" There was a long silence, and then their mother let out a suspiciously nervous giggle, the spoon clanking against the pot as she stirred more vigorously. "Why...why on earth would you ask that, my child?" 

"Aww, you do!" Frisk broke out into a grin, bouncing excitedly up and down in their chair – this was just so _perfect_. "I knew it. When are you going to tell him? I could help – you could write a note, or..."

" _Frisk_." Finally, Toriel turned away from the stove, and Frisk fell silent as she fixed them with her 'that's enough' look. "I am pleased that you have such an active imagination, but Sans and I are just _friends_. There will not be any notes or grand declarations of love. Certainly not from me, at least. In any case..." She resumed her cooking, now stirring so fast it reminded Frisk of Undyne. "Not that it need concern you, but I am far too old for such things. Someone as sweet and funny as Sans can surely..."

Frisk flashed her a knowing smile as they caught their mother's eye over her shoulder, wiggling their eyebrows; Toriel scoffed at them and shook her head, but they'd already spotted the blush creeping up on her cheeks. "Well, he can certainly find better than a silly old lady like me. I'm sure he will settle down with a nice young monster some day."

"Mom, you're not too old!" Frisk actually had no idea how old either of them were, or if monster years even worked like human years – but they knew it didn't matter, when two people cared about each other. Toriel deserved to be happy, and Frisk had never seen her _or_ Sans look happier than when they were cracking awful jokes together. "Sans doesn't want a young monster, anyway – he wants _you_. And there's nobody nicer than you."

"Oh, Frisk!" Toriel's face softened into a smile at that, as she stepped away from the stove to ruffle Frisk's already-messy hair, planting a loving kiss on the top of their head. "You are as sweet as pie. Speaking of which, dinner is almost ready. You should go and wash up."

"Yes, Mom." Frisk knew better than to argue, but they lingered in the doorway for a few seconds anyway. "Hey, you should say that to Sans, you know! He'd love – "

" _Now_ , Frisk."

"Okay, I'm going!"

But, as Frisk bounded up the stairs, a genius plan was already beginning to form in their head.

 

* * *

 

"Saaaans?" Frisk sing-songed, in their best 'I'm going to ask you a favour' voice.

"Mmhmmmm?" he replied, in his 'I'm probably not going to do it but I'll humour you for a while' voice, which conveniently was just his normal voice. 

"You like Mom, right?"

"Sure." Sans opened one eye to find himself face to face with the kid, smiling hopefully. "What's she need?" 

"Oh no, she's fine, it's nothing like that!" Frisk took that as an invitation to hop up on the couch next to him. "I was just wondering...cause, you know, I think my mom really likes _you_ , too."

"Okay?" Sans had a pretty good idea what they were getting at, but maybe if he played dumb for long enough he could change the subject to literally anything else. "I mean, yeah, we're good buds. We hang out all the –"

" _Sans_ ," Frisk interrupted, kicking him in the tibia with a surprising amount of force for someone so supposedly merciful. "Don't be a bonehead. You know what I mean – I can see right through you, remember?"

Sans chuckled, reluctantly shuffling upright into a sitting position – annoying as they were right now, he'd taught the kid well. "Touché, kiddo. So...what's your point?"

"I think you should ask her out. On a date."

"Noted. But here's an alternative: we _don't_ do that, and you let me go back to sleep and..." he tried to think of something human, "go eat some spoiled food or something."

"Oh!" Frisk gasped, clasping their hands to their mouth dramatically like they'd been watching too much MTT TV. "But what if I _did_ eat spoiled food, and get really sick, and then I told Mom that you told me to do it? Can't you just imagine how _disappointed_ she'd be then, Sans?"

" _Jeez_ , kid – that's how it is?" Sans was rapidly reconsidering his initial judgement: Frisk was clearly pure evil, smirking like they had him and they knew it – no sane monster or human wanted to incur the wrath of Toriel's _disappointed_ face. "You really don't give up, do you?" 

"Nope," they replied cheerfully.

"And you're...you're really serious about me and your mom, huh?"

"Yup!" Realising he wasn't getting out of this any time soon, Sans let out a groan as Frisk patted him on the head condescendingly. "Don't worry, Sans. You're gonna do great. I'm here to help you..." They leaned in closer and took both of his hands in their little fleshy ones, all the while maintaining an intense and slightly disturbing level of eye contact, "express your _true feelings_."

"Uh...huh." Sans lifted a sceptical brow bone. "Alright, then, buddy. Whaddaya got for me?" 

"That's the spirit!" Frisk beamed and clapped their hands together, looking _way_ too prepared for this. "I was thinking we'd start with a little roleplaying."

"...Come again?"

"You know – to practice what you're gonna say to Mom when you ask her out!"

Okay, Sans figured, maybe that wouldn't be _so_ bad, just for an entirely hypothetical...

"So – you be Mom and I'll be you."

Scratch that – it was much, much worse. "Uh...why can't _I_ be me?"

"It just works better this way. Trust me," they added, unconvincingly, "I know what I'm doing. I helped Alphys and Undyne get it together, remember? But don't worry, I don't _think_ Mom will throw you into a trash can, unless you really make her mad. Just give me a second to get into character."

Frisk jumped off the sofa and shuffled onto their knees, before baring their teeth in a disconcerting...smile? They looked more like the Snowdin dogs when someone mentioned the word "cat", and Sans snorted, somewhere between amused and bemused.

"Is this supposed to be me?"

"I'm a method actor. Pretty close to the bone, am I right?" Frisk winked, before clearing their throat and continuing in a drawl several octaves deeper than their normal voice: "Heyyy, Tori! So what's, um, _goat_ -ing on?"

Okay, that was both impressively terrible and a not-half-bad impression, so he'd play along. "Hello, Sans!" he trilled in his best royal falsetto that didn't really sound anything like Toriel. "It is a pleasure to see you!"

Apparently he'd said something right, because Frisk-as-Sans (Fri-Sans?) smiled and nodded encouragingly. "It is?"

"Why, of course," Sans-as-Toriel (Soriel? Things had gotten real weird, real fast) replied. "It is always a pleasure to see a good friend. It is wonderful that we are such very good _friends_ , is it not?"

"Uhhh, sure," Frisk said, ignoring his heavy emphasis on _friends_. "Anyway, Tori, l was just wondering – do you like raisins?"

"...Maybe? I dunno? What's that got do with –"

"Then how do you feel about a date?"

Sans let out a _pfffft_ , shaking his head because he should've seen that one coming, but somehow it was still kind of genius, and he wasn't even breaking character because he was sure it'd definitely tickle Toriel's funny bone too, even if he'd never seriously try it on her. "Okay, kid, that's actually –"

"I'm not kid, I'm Sans, remember, _Tori_?" Frisk narrowed their eyes, creepy grin still in place as they planted their hands on their hips. "So, what do you say?"

Tough crowd. "Oh, _Sans_!" Sans coughed and attempted some kind of vaguely goat-like whinny in what was, judging by the way Frisk wink, a poor attempt at Toriel's laugh."You are too much!"

"You like that one? I got more." Frisk screwed up their face for a moment like they were concentrating hard. "Tori – did you just come out of the oven? Because you're _hot_."

Sans buried his face in his hands, now sounding more like a dying goat than a laughing one, which was probably closer to reality anyway."I _can't_ say that to her – I mean, me?"

"No, wait, Tori, wanna come to Grillby's with me? Know what's on the menu?"

"I suppose...?"

" _Me_ 'n' _you_." Frisk winked and pointed double finger-guns at him, and Sans couldn't help but feel a little twinge of pride as he finally raised both arms in mock surrender.

"Alright, alright, kid, that's enough," he said in his own voice, still chuckling weakly. "You're killing me here. I'm not sure your mom's ready for such smooth moves – you should probably just hang on to those, y'know, for emergencies. I think you can use them better than I can.”

"But I picked them out for you." Frisk's face fell as they got to their feet, eyes big and accusing, and Sans felt like he'd just kicked a puppy in the face. "Was I wrong? Do you really not feel the same about Mom?"

Sans sighed – he didn't want to lie to the kid, and he wasn't sure they'd have bought it anyway. "No, kid – Frisk – listen. Okay, so maybe I _do_ like Tori. I mean she's..." – kind, beautiful, funny, smart, strong, amazing and so obviously out of his league he generally tried not to think about it – "great. But just think about it - she's the _queen_. She was married to _Asgore_. I'm...” He managed a self-deprecating laugh, scratching awkwardly at his cheekbone as though that could somehow get rid of the blush he could feel growing there. “Kind of a downgrade, don't you think? But that's not the real problem,” he continued, before they could argue. “Say I do ask her out, and she says no – or maybe we date for a while but it doesn't work out. What happens then – we can't hang out any more without everything being awkward? I don't wanna do that to her – or to you. She's my best friend, we have a ton of fun and that's...enough, you know? Why would I want to risk losing her just for the slight possibility that she might...that she's crazy enough to want the same?”

Sans hadn't planned on saying any of that – he didn't even think he had any guts to spill, in the most literal sense – but it was actually kind of a relief to get it off his sternum, with Frisk listening with their familiar, seemingly indifferent but weirdly reassuring expression.

“Sans,” they said quietly after a moment, and as their eyes met, just for a second he caught a glimpse of a soul much older and wiser than their young body, “you know how much Mom cares about you, right? Even if she did say no – which she definitely won't –she'll _always_ want to be friends with you, no matter what. You're the only one who actually laughs at her jokes, after all." They smiled, but then let out a long sigh, flopping back down onto the couch next to him like they were totally exhausted. “This is harder than I thought. I was kind of hoping, by now, you'd be making a big speech about how awesome Mom is and how you were sure she'd never love you back because of your crippling emotional issues, and then she'd suddenly walk in and hear everything and at first you'd be like "oh my god" but she'd be like "it's okay, I feel the same" and then you'd kiss and everything would be perfect. Just like Alphys and Undyne...well, kind of."

 _Definitely_ watching too much MTT TV, but Sans grinned fondly back at them and gently bumped his head against Frisk's in solidarity. "Sorry, kiddo. But sometimes things just don't work out how you want –"

The door rattled like someone was trying to get in, making them both jump, and Frisk's face immediately brightened up again.

"Ooh, maybe that's her now! Maybe she _did_ hear!"

They had to be _kidding_. "Kid, if you're telling me you set this up, I _swear_ I'll _.._."

Before Sans could finish his threat, Papyrus burst through the door in a typically understated fashion, clutching a bunch of skeleton teddy bears and wearing his '#1 MASCOT' baseball cap backwards. “Sans! Human! Look at all this cool stuff they gave me!”

Sans and Frisk glanced at each other shiftily, and Papyrus narrowed his sockets at them over the top of his neon shades. “Why are you two staring at me like that? Wait, I know! Could it be...you were planning a surprise party in honour of my twenty-seventh day as official mascot of monsterkind?!”

"Uh, yeah, _damn_ ," Sans said quickly, "you totally caught us, bro, that's too –"

“Actually,” Frisk interrupted, smiling like the _demon child from hell_ they were, “we were just practicing for Sans' big _date_.”

Papyrus' jaw dropped, and if Sans had a heart it would have sank.

"Oh my god, _what_?! Is this a joke? Wait! Let me get the book!"

His brother clattered off upstairs, and Sans decided he needed a date with a big, fat bottle of ketchup or several right about now. "Oh, hey, you know, I think I left my hoodie at Grillby's last night. Better go get it."

Frisk side-eyed him (they were good at that). "You're wearing your hoodie."

"I meant my _other_ hoodie."

He was out of the door before they had a chance to point out that he only owned three items of clothing, just in time to hear Frisk yell after him: "You can't hide from your feelings forever, Sans!"

Sans could sure as hell try his best to teleport away from them, though.

  
  


* * *

 

"Wowie! She was a fusion _the whole time_?!"

Initially, Toriel had had her doubts when Frisk suggested a cartoon Alphys had recommended as after-dinner viewing – some of those animations, or whatever they were called, were most definitely _not_ suitable for children. After several episodes, however, she was charmed by the sight of her child enjoying themselves so as the four of them sat on her sofa, cosily close together without being squashed; Frisk and Papyrus both on the edge of their seats, transfixed by the magical ladies dancing across the screen and punching each other, often at the same time, while Sans was on her other side, relaxing back against the cushions with a sleepy but contented smile. Every now and then, as their respective relatives gasped and clutched each other when something apparently significant happened, she would catch his eye and they shared a fondly amused smile – and oh, how Toriel had missed this. At moments like these, she almost hardly dared believe her life was real, that she had been given a second chance for the one thing she had truly longed for, all those years in the Ruins: a family.

"I know, right?" Frisk bounced excitedly up and down in their seat as the episode ended, before hopping off the sofa and tugging on Papyrus' bony arm. "Oh, Papy! Remember that puzzle I was going to show you in my room?"

"No – oh wait, yes! _That_ puzzle!" The two of them exchanged very unsubtle, and somehow audible winks, and Toriel realised at once what they were up to. She tutted mildly as they hastily retreated upstairs, leaving herself and Sans to exchange awkward smiles.

“They'll sleep tonight, huh?”

“One would hope so,” Toriel replied, feeling her smile wavering – she had rather hoped they could avoid this conversation, but she could feel the weight of her feelings hanging heavy on her heart, stretching out into this unfamiliar, increasingly uncomfortable tension between them that she knew would not go away unless she said something.

"Sans, I...there is something I should probably tell you," she began, butterflies stirring in her stomach in anticipation of his reaction. "I'm afraid Frisk appears to have gotten it into their head that you and I are – or perhaps that we _should_ be – "

"...Dating?" Sans finished for her, confirming her suspicions, and Toriel offered a vaguely apologetic smile as her eyes met his sockets and she felt her cheeks heating up.

"Ah, yes, indeed. I must have a talk with them about...about proper boundaries." Toriel swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. "I really am sorry if Frisk has been bothering you, or has made you uncomfortable – or if I am doing so now. It was not my intention to..."

“Tori, it's fine, seriously. You got one very, uh, _determined_ kid there, you know that?” Sans chuckled, not quite meeting her eyes this time. “But it doesn't bother me, I mean, it's funny in a way. Well, not _funny_ – the idea of you and me ever being, y'know, but...yeah. I mean, it's nice that they're trying to help, even if they're wrong. Well – heh – maybe not _totally_ wrong. But it doesn't have to be a big deal, right? I'm pretty good at pretending stuff never happened, if that's – if that's what you wanna do...?”

Toriel frowned, trying to keep up – she'd rarely heard Sans say quite so much, so quickly before, but if she had heard him correctly...

"Sans," she said gently, trying to stay calm despite her heart pounding in her chest in anticipation of what he may or may not have been about to say, “you do know you can tell me anything, do you not? I value our friendship very much, and I...I do not wish there to be any secrets between us.”

She looked deep into his sockets, and saw his ever-present smile freeze for a moment before he let out another strained laugh, ducking away from her gaze and pinching where his nose would have been, if he'd had one. "Okay – you know what, kid, you win. Guess I've gotta ask now, haven't I? So, Tori..."

Toriel leaned forward encouragingly, sure that her heart was about to burst. "Yes, Sans?"

"Do you like raisins?"

"...Pardon me?" She blinked, bemused – whatever she had been expecting him to say next, it certainly was not that. "Well...yes, I do like raisins, actually! They are quite versatile, especially in oatmeal cookies.”

"Great, yeah, me too. In that case..." Toriel never imagined that a skeleton could blush – and least of all that _Sans_ would, especially around her of all people – but she had to admit, a light dusting of blue across the cheekbones was a rather adorable look on him. "How'd you feel about a date?"

"...Ah!" As the punchline connected, Toriel snorted, her laughter escaping in howling, hysterical whoops that she could not seem to control, as she could almost feel the tension pouring out of her. After a moment, however, she became aware that something was wrong – that, for once, Sans was not laughing with her.

“I could certainly be partial to a date,” she told him, manging to compose herself but unable to keep the great, foolish smile from stretching across her face, “assuming, of course, that it is with you.”

" _Really_? Uh, wow." Finally, Sans broke into a wonderfully wide, genuine grin as he let out a much higher-pitched laugh than usual – almost a giggle, as charming as the shade of cerulean on his cheeks as they smiled foolishly at each other. "That's great. I mean, that's –" 

"Wow, human, you were right – that was a real cranium-scratcher!" Sans' next words were drowned out by his own brother's voice, followed by the sound of a door closing as Frisk and Papyrus tumbled down the stairs. "Luckily, the Great Papyrus is _always_ prepared for helping his pals through even the most perilous of puzzles!"

“I did not doubt it for a second.” Toriel smiled at them both as she stood up, smoothing down her dress in an attempt to look somewhat respectable, despite the flush on her cheeks. “Frisk, it is almost bedtime,” she added, trying to sound stern even though she still felt a little giddy. “We have school in the morning, do we not?"

"Aww, but Mom – one more episode? Pleeease?" Frisk looked up at her with pleading eyes, before glancing suspiciously between Toriel and Sans for a moment; she could sense they were just dying to know what had happened, and dared not catch Sans' eye for fear she would laugh again.

Fortunately for her child, Toriel was feeling indulgent. “Well, okay, then – just _one_ more.”

She would still have to have that talk with Frisk, she reflected as they all squeezed back onto the sofa and Sans leaned his head against Toriel's shoulder instead of the cushions, a light but comforting touch as the familiar opening song started up. It would not do for them to start interfering in other people's romantic entanglements, after all – she could only imagine the havoc it might wreak.

But perhaps, Toriel thought as her hand found Sans' under a cushion and he interlinked their fingers, sending a long-missing secret thrill of excitement through her very soul – perhaps, later, she would also have to thank them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading and feedback always appreciated! <3


	4. First Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "Your OTP’s first date. Where’d they go? Did the date go well or go horribly?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: this pile of floof now has [ART](http://pre03.deviantart.net/3b1f/th/pre/i/2017/108/f/e/first_date_by_poisondilu-db6amhe.png)!! by the amazing [poisondilu](http://poisondilu.deviantart.com/%22)! *^* <33
> 
> I hope you guys like it <3

"Papyrus, you shouldn't have."

"No need to thank me, brother! The great Papyrus is always happy to share –" 

"No – you _really, really shouldn't have_."

"But, Sans!" Papyrus' face fell as he waved the monstrosity at Sans – if he'd had eyes, they'd probably have been blinded by sequins by now. "Don't you want to increase your dateability by up to 670%?"

Sans didn't even know where to start – the fact that those figures were highly debatable, the fact that it was Papyrus' size and would have come way down to the floor on him, or just the fact that it was an _MTT-brand hot pink sparkly tuxedo_.

"Where'd you even _get_ that, anyway?" he asked, sidestepping the obvious – he didn't want to hurt his brother's feelings, since he was obviously trying, but there was no way Sans was showing up to his first real date with Toriel in _that_. Just looking at it was giving him bone rash. "Didn't those things use to cost, like, 50000G?"

"Oh! An, um, friend gave it to me. Anyway!" Papyrus seemed suspiciously eager to change the subject as he sat down on Sans' bed and glanced around the assorted piles of junk with a look of distaste. "We'll come back to your wardrobe later. More importantly, where are you going to take her?"

"Huh." That...was a good question actually. Sans hadn't really given it much thought, since he kept getting stuck on the part where _he was going on a date with Toriel_. "I dunno? Guess I'll ask Tori what she wants to do. Probably just take it easy, go for a walk, maybe go to..."

"Don't say Grillby's."

"...why not?

"Oh my god, _Sans_!" Papyrus threw up his hands in despair, as if Sans had just suggested a romantic trip to the dump – which, if they were back in the Underground, might actually have been one of the better options. "You can't take the _queen_ to that greasehole!"

Sans lifted a questioning brow bone. "But we go there all the time. We went there yesterday."

"I know, but...but! This is your first date! It has to be _special_! You're supposed to sweep Toriel off her feet – metaphorically. I think." Papyrus shook his skull and pulled out a book from his improbably tiny shorts. "Fortunately for you, brother, the Great Papyrus is an _expert_ in all things romance!"

"That _is_ lucky," Sans agreed, partly to humour him, but also because doubt was starting to swirl around his mind – what if Toriel _was_ expecting some grand romantic gesture? Maybe there was some kind of royal procedure he had to follow – slay a dragon, battle her seven evil exes, something like that. "Okay, Pap, you're the expert – where do _you_ think we should go?"

"Hmmm." Papyrus tapped a gloved finger thoughtfully against his chin for a moment, before his sockets lit up. "I know! You should take her...dancing!"

"Dancing," Sans repeated flatly.

"Obviously!" Papyrus clasped his hands together, gazing up at the ceiling with a dreamy twinkle in his sockets. "Just imagine – the music, the moonlight, at least one of you in a beautiful, flowing ball gown...Probably her," he conceded, catching Sans' dubious expression. "And then Met – I mean _Toriel_ can dip you low and twirl you around with a rose between her teeth!"

Sans grinned. "Never knew you were such an old romantic, bro." It wasn't an unappealing image, he had to admit, even if he usually had to have a few glasses of something stronger than ketchup in him to consider dancing, and had no idea where he was supposed to find a ballroom on the surface, or if those were even a thing any more. "Okay, that's, uh, definitely one for the maybe pile. Got any more hot date ideas?"

Papyrus flicked through the pages of _Lovely Bones: The Suave Skeleton's Guide to Romance_. "How about: 'Take him, her or slimeself to a scary movie, so they can cuddle up to you when they get scared. Or try the classic "pretending to yawn and putting your arm around them" trick.' You might need to bring a stepladder for that one," he noted. "'Romantic walk on the beach'? 'Romantic home-cooked meal'? 'Doing your taxes – romantically'...?" He glanced up, his sockets creasing with concern as they met Sans'. "Sans – are you okay? You're looking...paler than usual, and I didn't even know that was possible."

"Me? Psssh, yeah, I'm great – why wouldn't I be?" Sans was pretty sure his brother wasn't buying it, but he kept smiling a little more manically than usual anyway. "Totally go on dates with the queen all the time – but I mean, it's just Tori, right? We hang out all the time, this is no different...I'm sure there's no way I can screw this up and make her hate me forever."

As usual, sarcasm didn't stand a chance against Papyrus' relentless optimism, because he just beamed back, clapping Sans on the back encouragingly. "That's the spirit, Sans! Just like it says right here: 'be yourself! But not too much yourself. Try to cut out the jerky bits that no one likes.'" He hesitated, brow bone furrowing. "But this is Toriel, and we know she has little to no standards for royalty – she somehow _already_ thinks you're cool and funny and apparently dateworthy, so you'll do fine. I, the Great Papyrus, believe in you! You're a trash CAN, not a trash can't! Sorry," he added at a slightly less stapes-shattering volume, offering a sheepish smile. "That's what I used to say to Alphys. I was reliving my brief but memorable time as a motivational coach for a moment there."

Sans chuckled, the corners of his mouth tugging into a genuine smile – it was impossible not to, looking into his little brother's eager face. "Catchy. Thanks, Pap – you know, I _femur_ better already."

Papyrus let out a strangled groan, collapsing his head into his hands dramatically. "Why, Sans? _Why_ do you always have to ruin it?"

"I dunno," he replied with a shrug, warming up. "Guess I'm just...bad to the bone."

"I'm leaving."

" _Tibia_ honest, bro..." Sans called after him, sprawling comfortably back on his bed just as Papyrus got off of it. 

"– oh my _god_ – "

"...you're smiling."

"I am not!" Papyrus insisted as he flounced out of the door and back to his own room. "It's just my bone structure!"

He still closed the door carefully so as not to incite another incident with the self-sustaining trash hurricane, and Sans' laughter petered out into a sigh as he looked around his room at the mountains of dirty socks and dog hairs.

Sans was sure he had an actual pair of pants somewhere in _one_ of these timelines.

  
  


* * *

 

 

"Frisk, dear, are you sure this dress looks okay? It is quite appropriate attire for the season, yes?"

"Mom, it looks great. You look pretty – you _always_ look pretty," Frisk assured her, as Toriel examined her reflection critically in the mirror, as she had been doing for longer than she'd care to admit. It had been so long, she found herself unaccustomed to the sight of her bare arms in her light summer dress, which clung a little more closely to the contours of her body than her royal robes or respectable school clothes. They looked so...large, and sturdy from her many, many years of hard work. She wanted to wear something nice, but what if Sans found the sight unattractive? He _was_ a skeleton – it would only be natural if he were inclined towards a thinner frame. Oh, she was being ridiculous, fretting like this – this was Sans, after all, he probably wouldn't even notice what she was wearing. She fluffed up her ears, then smoothed them down again as two familiar knocks sounded at the door.

"Knock knock."

"Do you guys really have to do this _every_ time?" Frisk groaned, but Toriel ignored them, savouring the moment.

"Who is there?" she called back.

"Boo."

"Boo who?"

"Crying already? Wow, this date really isn't going well."

Toriel snorted with laughter, some of her initial tension beginning to melt away as Frisk opened the door.

"Sans, that was _terrible_ ," they told him, although they were smiling nonetheless as they glanced back at her expectantly, "even for you."

"Thanks, kiddo. Thought I'd better bring my A game." In the mirror, Sans' sockets caught Toriel's eyes, and a tingle of electricity ran down her spine as his smile widened, the barest hint of blue on his cheekbones as she turned around. "Heya, Tori. You look, uh...wow. Good. _Great_ ," he amended quickly, as though worried she would somehow misinterpret him. 

"Oh!" Toriel let out a shrill giggle, pressing a self-conscious hand to her cheek as she flushed with pleasure. "Why, thank you, Sans – how sweet of you to say. You are looking rather _wow_ yourself," she added with a wink.

"Heh – thanks." He scratched the back of his skull as Toriel noted with surprise that he was wearing actual pants and a simple white shirt – a little rumpled and rolled up at the sleeves, but nonetheless a world away from his usual attire, and she decided that she liked it, very much, as he held out his hand. "So, uh, shall we...?"

"We shall indeed." Toriel accepted it with a smile, turning back to Frisk as they approached the door. "Frisk, do not wait up for me! Get to bed at a reasonable time, and do not think I won't be able to tell if you have not. Dinner is in the fridge – you do remember how I showed you to heat it up, yes? And you have both of our numbers if there is anything at all you –"

"Mom, I'll be fine," her child interrupted, but they could not keep the excited – and just a touch smug – grin from their face, waving their hands as shooing away a pair of troublesome mice. "Undyne's coming over, remember? You guys go and have fun! And don't do anything I wouldn't!"

"Yes, that is reassuring," Toriel said dryly after they closed the door. She knew that Frisk was more than capable of looking after themselves, of course, but she still could not help but worry. She never could, although the way Sans grinned and squeezed her hand as they set off towards the beach did at least help to take her mind off it.

They strolled along the promenade for a while at a leisurely pace, neither saying much; Toriel was content to enjoy the thrill of their interlinked hands, the light sea breeze through her fur. The setting sun cast a warming glow over the beach, and she admired the sight of the few children still playing there. Theirs was a predominantly monster community, of course, but she had noticed the number of humans steadily growing, and few things made her happier than to see the two happily playing together, as though the last few thousand years of conflict had never happened – as though, for the first time in all her years, things really _were_ changing. Sans noted that he was getting much more custom selling hot dogs and cats here than he used to in the Underground, especially now Frisk had brought their human friends along to show off their “mad 'dog-balancing skills”.

"I think some are still scared of me, though," he said, as they paused to take a break on a nearby bench.

Toriel looked at him sympathetically. "Because you are a monster?"

"Yeah. Well, that plus the whole appearing-disappearing thing I think freaks them out a little. What?" Sans widened his sockets faux-innocently when she tutted at him. "C'mon, Tori, you didn't think I was gonna _walk_ all the way along here every day, did you?"

Toriel was about to point out that he had, in fact, done just that, but before she could open her mouth her stomach spoke for her, letting out a loud, insistent gurgle at all the talk of food.

"Oh goodness – excuse me! I think it must be Frisk and my usual dinner time," she explained, flashing Sans an apologetic smile as she clasped her hands over her stomach in an attempt to quiet it. He was already smirking in the way she knew meant he was trying not to laugh, and most likely about to fail.

"I hear ya, buddy," he said, leaning over to address Toriel's stomach directly, almost as though there were a baby in there. "Hang in there."

"Oh you, shush!" Toriel playfully pushed him away, laughing too much to sound in any way threatening as she felt a blush blooming across her cheeks. "Do not mock me – we cannot all be so fortunate as not to possess any internal organs, can we not?"

"You're right, sorry – that was pretty heartless of me." Sans tugged at the collar of his shirt, and as she giggled Toriel unexpectedly caught herself wondering what he looked like under there; whether she would be able to see his soul, even, beating under his ribcage. But such a thing would be _far_ too intimate at this stage, she reminded herself sharply, hoping Sans would assume her deepening blush was still a result of her stomach rumblings. "But your friend there makes a good point," he continued, stretching his arms out across the back of the bench. "Food seems like a good plan right about now. So...where'd you wanna go? I think there's some fancy places over that end."

He did not sound particularly enthused, and Toriel was not herself, she had to admit, in the mood for a classy establishment at that moment – they were usually reserved for humans, and she did not feel like putting up with the murmurs and raised eyebrows they would inevitably face, as though a goat and a skeleton enjoying some dinner together were not the most natural thing in the world. 

Toriel and Sans looked at each other. 

"Grillby's?"

"Grillby's."

  
  


Toriel had grown fond of the unpretentious, welcoming warmth of Grillby's, now that she came in often enough that no one gaped at her because they did not expect their queen to frequent such a place. It was reassuringly familiar, walking in to see all of the regulars occupying their usual places, hollering their usual greetings mixed in with some expressions of surprise at the sight of Sans wearing " _shoes_?! Damn, look who's gone all _fancy_ on us soon as he got to the surface!"

Yet there was undeniably something else in the air, too, as they tucked themselves away in a corner table, sitting just a little closer together than strictly necessary as they talked about everything and nothing over a plate of deliciously guilty cheese fries. Sans' breath tickled Toriel's ear as he leaned in to tell her about Bun's disastrous 'Humans Night', and she placed her hand lightly on his forearm as she recalled when her class accidentally fed the goldfish Temmie Flakes, feeling a frisson of excitement at the sensation of fur on bone – surprisingly smooth to the touch, but with its own unique texture, intricate little lines and creases spelling out Sans' story. She could have traced them all day, but did not want to make Sans uncomfortable, although he did not seem to mind her hand lingering there for a moment. Content and full, they fell into a comfortable silence until Grillby wandered over to enquire if they were planning on paying tonight.

"C'mon now, Grillbz," Sans replied, a mischievous twinkle in his socket Toriel recognised all too well, "don't go getting jealous just 'cause I've finally got a hotter date than you."

Toriel nudged his foot with hers under the table. "Now, Sans, do not be so impolite," she reprimanded, trying to stay stern while biting her lip to conceal the laughter that threatened to burst forth at any moment. "Grillby works _very_ hard here to provide all of us with exceptional food and service, and might I add he does a wonderful job. You cannot blame him for needing to...blow off some steam."

Sans snorted with laughter and high-fived her. "Tori, you're on _fire_."

Grillby just shook his head wearily, crackling something under his breath as he scribbled on what was presumably Sans' rather impressive tab. As he walked off, the bird at the end of the bar leaned over and informed them: "He said you're both banned."

Toriel was certain he did not mean it, though, because that was what he said last time. Still, she supposed, she ought to be getting back to Frisk, so they said their goodbyes and began the long walk home, though were unable to resist the temptation of Nice Creams from a passing vendor.

"'Well done!'" Toriel read out the text on the stick. "'You got out of bed today.' Hmm, I think this one might be for you."

"'Your hair looks nice today,'" Sans read, before sticking the remainder of the Nice Cream between his teeth – she still wasn't quite sure how he did that – and running a hand over the top of his skull. "How'd they know?"

Toriel chuckled softly. "Perhaps it refers to the rather fetching green moustache you have just grown," she teased, resisting the temptation to reach out and rub it away with her thumb.

"It ain't easy being green, Tori,” he deadpanned, before scrubbing a hand across his mouth and casually wiping it on his shirt. “Heh – good job I wasn't wearing a ball gown tonight, then.”

Toriel spluttered, almost choking on her Nice Cream at that unexpectedly arresting image. “Pardon me? A _ball gown_?”

“Right – 'cause of how you're, y'know, _the queen_ , you're probably used to dates a little more special than this, right? More special than _me_ , even.” Sans let out another dry 'heh', looking down at the floor and scuffing his shoes. “Sorry – I, uh, don't really date much, if you haven't figured it out. Lots of reasons, but – there's never really been anyone special. Before now, obviously."

Sans glanced up at her, a rare glimmer of vulnerability in his sockets despite his usual carefree smile, and Toriel was overcome by the urge to scoop him up in her arms right there and then. (She managed to restrain herself – that might have been a little too forward)

"Well, _I_ may not have dated in...many decades," she began, thinking it wisest not to mention Asgore, "but I thought tonight was very special indeed. And, truthfully, I never really was one for the fancy parties – as _sans_ ational as I'm sure you would look in a ball gown."

Sans laughed, warm and genuine as he pulled her into a half-hug, one arm circling around her waist. "Hate to disappoint you, Tori, but I think I'm gonna have to pass on that one. Thanks, though. It's good to know neither of us has any idea what we're doing here."

"Oh, absolutely no idea," Toriel agreed gleefully, her heart starting to race as Sans' hand settled on her waist and she covered it with her own with a meaningful squeeze. “But I hope that – if we keep trying – perhaps we will one day figure it out.”

"Yeah? You know, I think I could work with that."

Taking a deep breath to calm herself, Toriel leaned down to close the short distance between them and before she lost her nerve, pressed a swift but tender kiss to the top of Sans' skull. She could not help but giggle as he flushed almost as blue as the ocean that stretched out before them, but did not move away as they looked out over the waves at a world of endless, tantalising possibilities.

"I think so, too."

 

* * *

 

 

"Well?! How did it go? Where did you take her?!"

“Wha...?” Sans startled awake as his covers were unceremoniously yanked from his bed to find himself staring into a pair of eager sockets. “Pap, what the _hell_? It's...” He glanced blearily at the time on his phone. “4am? What're you even doing up?”

"What? No, of course I haven't just got in! That's not the point!" Papyrus bounced impatiently up and down on the end of Sans' bed, reminding him a lot of that dog he hated so much. "I couldn't wait all day for you to get up – so where did you go?"

"Okay, okay, bro, inside voice," Sans grumbled, rubbing at his sockets – but he couldn't stay irritated for long, a giant grin stretching his face as he remembered. "We just went to Grillby's."

Instead of the exasperated "oh my _god_ " he was expecting, Papyrus looked oddly pleased at that. "I knew you would!" he declared, "especially if I advised you not to! What did I tell you – the queen is super cool, but she has _highly_ questionable taste. Just like you!"

Sometimes, Sans thought he'd never figure his brother out. "You're right," he agreed, grabbing his covers back and burying his head back in the comfort of his pillow, "she really does. Terrible, terrible taste. Now lemme _sleep_ and I'll tell you about it tomorrow."

But even after his brother had reluctantly retreated back to his own room, for what had to be the first time ever, Sans was actually too happy to sleep.

  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading and feedback is always appreciated! <3


	5. Reminder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "What trinkets or items does each member of your OTP keep with them to remind them of their significant other? A gift? A photograph? Something else?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! so updates are probably going to be a little less regular over the next couple of weeks because of RL getting busy ^^; in the meantime, I hope you enjoy ...whatever this is!! (now with ~flashbacks~!! don't worry they're not actually written like that lol) Thanks for understanding and to everyone following this thing, it really means a lot <3

 

"Miss Toriel?"

Toriel glances up from marking that morning's spelling test into the curious eyes of the only child still lingering at her desk, after all the others have rushed outside for recess. "Yes, Grant? Is there anything I can help you with?"

"Oh, um, it's nothing, really..." Grant shuffles his feet, suddenly shy as he ducks his head to hide behind thick brown bangs. Toriel waits patiently for him to work up the nerve, until the child reaches across her desk to point at something. "I just wondered – what's _that_?"

Toriel follows his finger, and smiles when she sees what he is pointing at: the smiling faces of herself and Sans, propped up in a picture frame next to her pencil holder. Well, most of their faces – in truth, it was not the best photo ever taken of the two of them, but it remained her favourite.

" _That_ is Sans, my..." She hesitates, unsure whether it is strictly appropriate to explain the nature of their relationship on school grounds, before settling for: "dear friend."

"Your friend? You mean he's _alive_?" Grant's eyes widen, glancing fearfully at the photograph as though it might leap off the desk at any moment. "But...I thought skeletons were supposed to stay _inside_ your body."

Toriel chuckles gently. "Very much so. You are correct, Grant – that is indeed the case for humans. But we monsters come in a great variety of shapes and species, and some, like Sans, happen to be skeletons. It is quite natural, and nothing for you to be afraid of, my child."

"Huh." Grant falls silent, considering this information. After a moment's hesitation, he continues: "My mom says...She says I have to stay away from monsters that look scary like that. She says we can't trust them."

"Does she, now?" Toriel steeples her hands under her chin, considering her response carefully. "Well, that is funny. Because I remember a time when there was _nothing_ scarier to us monsters than a human."

She gasps as if she is afraid, pretending to hide her face behind her ears and making the child giggle. "Miss Toriel, don't be silly! _I'd_ never hurt you – you're way bigger than me, anyway! I bet you could beat any human in a fight."

Looking into the child's wide, innocent eyes, Toriel cannot help but feel an ache in her soul, thinking of the truth Grant will one day come to learn. Sometimes, she still wishes she could protect him – protect all of them – from the harsh realities of their shared history, but she knows that would not be right. Only by acknowledging the mistakes of the past can they move towards a better future, and so she simply smiles fondly back at him.

"Perhaps that is true, Grant – not that I would ever dream of doing so, as you know, for violence is never the answer. But sometimes, it is the things that seem silly to others that frighten us the most. That is something monsters and humans have in common, is it not?"

Grant grins, a little bashful. "I mean, not _all_ monsters are scary. You're nice and warm and fluffy, like a big, really smart dog. And obviously Stig is my friend, and so is Bob, and they're monsters, too..."

Toriel nods knowingly, as she recognises the first glimmers of understanding in his eyes. "And how wonderful it is, to have so many good friends. Tell me, Grant, are they your friends because of the way they look, or because of..."

"No, 'cause it's what's _inside_ them that counts, Miss Toriel, I know," Grant interrupts, rolling his eyes; Toriel frowns a little at his tone, but she cannot help but smile all the same. "We learned that in, like, _kindergarten_. Whether they're nice and you have fun together and stuff like that."

"I am pleased to see you have been listening, Grant," she replies with a wink, as he leans over her desk to study the photo again.

"You guys look really happy," he says, thoughtfully. "I guess...if someone makes you happy, they're a good friend, right? Even if they look scary?"

Grant looks up at Toriel with hopeful eyes, and when she nods in approval, he breaks into a proud, toothy grin that lights up his little face and warms her own heart. There is no finer sight, she thinks - except perhaps the one contained in the photo sitting beside him. She reaches out to adjust the frame, her expression softening into a contented smile as her fingers hover for a second over fond memories, just before the bell goes.

"I could not have put it better myself, my child."

 

* * *

 

 

_"Well. Here we are."_

_"Indeed! We are certainly, ah...here." Toriel cleared her throat, looking around at all the faces – some old, many new – assembled in the hall. "I must say, I never imagined that we would be meeting in such...unusual circumstances."_

_"Heh – you and me both." It still felt so strange, even after everything that had happened, that the voice she had come to know so well had a_ name _, and a face, grinning up at her. Yet, for as long as it had been since Toriel could recall seeing a skeleton, there was a certain warmth to his smile, the faint blue light in his empty eye sockets somehow reassuring her. "The kid did good in the end, huh?"_

_"Very good indeed," Toriel agreed, smiling as her chest swelled with pride and gratitude for Frisk, for everything the child had accomplished, and everything they had done for all the people gathered here. "To think, were it not for them, we might never have gotten the chance to meet in the flesh! Or, ah, bone, as it were," she added, with a nervous giggle._

_Sans smiled – well, naturally his bone structure made it a little hard to tell when he_ wasn't _smiling, but Toriel was almost certain it was wider than before as he winked at her. "Yeah, well. I told you I was nobody."_

_Toriel let out a snort of laughter at the old, familiar joke, and as Sans joined in suddenly she was back there – back telling jokes through the old forest door as though nothing had changed, and yet everything had. Because there was no door, no barrier – he was_ here _, her friend, right beside her, and whatever it was that awaited them on the surface, Toriel realised she was certain of one thing: she would no longer have to face it alone._

_"Ah, but you are not nobody, surely? You are Sans," she responded, returning the wink as she emphasised his name, as though tasting it for the first time. Short, sweet and succinct – it suited him down to the bone, she thought, unable to keep from smiling at her own joke as she filed it away for future use. "In that case, perhaps we should have something to remember this moment by, should we not? In honour of your becoming_ somebody _– well, to me, at least."_

_"You saying the_ queen _wants a selfie with me?" Sans' sockets widened for a moment, but she could tell he was not truly intimidated – as Toriel feared he might be, learning her true identity – by the playful gleam in his eye as he chuckled, reaching into his pocket. "Sure thing, Tori – just gimme a sec."_

_Never before had she gone so quickly from '_ the queen' _to '_ Tori' _– indeed, no one had called her the latter in decades, but it sounded so casual and natural, in Sans' pleasantly familiar laid-back monotone, that Toriel decided she rather liked it. He produced a phone from his pocket, and with a few taps she found herself looking at the top of Sans' skull and most of her own chin._

_"Oh...right, heh." He turned his head briefly back to flash her a sheepish grin. "Maybe if I..."_

_"Ah, sorry – please do let me..."_

_They shuffled around each other, exchanging awkward smiles as their height disparity became increasingly apparent; Toriel tried her best to fit in the frame, bending her knees and lowering her head closer to his, while Sans held the phone out at various angles, even edging up on his tiptoes – for he was barely an inch taller than Frisk, and Toriel could not help but find it adorable, if inconvenient at the present moment – until eventually, they both appeared at least somewhat in the frame._

_"Okay – say 'goat's cheese'."_

_"Excuse me?"_

_The camera clicked a few times before she received a satisfactory response. Toriel straightened up as Sans flicked through the results, laughing a little and shaking his head._

_"Wow, heh, that's...uh, something. Hey, we can always get Frisk to take one when they get back."_

_"May I see?" Toriel glanced over his shoulder and Sans held out the phone for her, her ear brushing against his skull as she leaned in. Upon seeing the picture, she too let out a laugh of delight._

_Neither of them were looking at the camera; Sans was looking up towards Toriel – or as much of her had gotten in the shot – grinning at whatever she had been saying, her fangs bared in something that barely resembled a smile. The angle was awkward, they were pressed just a little too close together and meanwhile there was Undyne flexing in the background with the Royal Scientist – Alphys, that was her name – clinging onto her arm and looking equally terrified and delighted._

_Toriel smiled, excitement stirring in her soul as she thought about all the possibilities that lay ahead of them, beyond the barrier – they would, she hoped, have the opportunity to take better pictures. But none would ever be quite the same as this one, and somehow, seeing Sans' grin just as wide and foolish as her own, she was certain he felt the same._

_"It is perfect."_

 

 

* * *

 

  
  


Sans wakes up with one too many dogs in his pocket.

"C'mon, buddy, go on, get out of there. No spare ribs here," he says, patting the white lump as it kicks its legs uselessly, having somehow managed to bury its face halfway inside his left pocket. After a brief struggle, the dog emerges with its prize – half a hot dog he doesn't even remember putting in there – as well as a whole bunch of junk, scattering everywhere as it gives itself a good shake before jumping off of Sans' lap and scampering away, victorious.

Sans yawns, bones cracking as he stretches and reluctantly lets himself slide off the bed and onto the floor, surrounded by various debris he'd been hanging onto either because he couldn't remember if it might have been important, or just hadn't gotten around to throwing it out. A deflated whoopee cushion; a matchbook from Grillby's from way back in the day before Grillby got sick of " _certain people_ who think they're funny" asking if they could light up on his face; some old puzzle calibrations he'd probably never looked at; a crumpled equation that reads _d = mc??_ in handwriting he doesn't recognise. 

As he half-heartedly kicks most of the stuff under his bed – just in case – one neatly folded piece of paper catches his socket. Sans unfolds it, and smiles to himself as he glances over the familiar recipe for butterscotch-cinnamon pie, all lovingly detailed in Toriel's elegant cursive script (“cups of butter, _not_ buttercups”). It's well-used, yellowed from age with a few splotches of what was once probably pie mix obscuring some of the writing.

Sans folds the recipe up again instead of just stuffing it away like he normally would, careful not to tear it as he strokes a finger absent-mindedly along the edges before placing it gently back in his right pocket.

It's not like he can get a paper cut, but if he could, it'd be worth it.

  
  


* * *

 

  
  


_"Oh, pardon me – is this yours?"_

_"Huh?" Sans turned around, hanging back as they passed through the throne room to see Toriel holding up a piece of paper with a questioning look. “Oh, thanks, Tori – it's probably nothing...”_

_He realised too late what it was as Toriel unfolded the note, her eyebrows raising before she looked back at him with a surprised smile. “Goodness, Sans – you were carrying_ this _around?”_

Busted _. “Heh, yeah, I guess I was...?” Not only was Door Lady the queen, turned out she was also_ really, really cute, _which apparently was affecting Sans' ability to think of anything smart or funny to say as he scratched the back of his skull. “Sorry – been meaning to put that somewhere safer, but...”_

_"There is no need to be sorry! To be honest, I am quite flattered that my cooking has left such an impression on you." Toriel giggled, light and musical, as she folded the recipe neatly and handed it back to him. “But, where we are going, you will not need this old thing any more. I know this recipe like the back of my paw, and – should you ever need it – I would be more than happy to give you a...tu-_ Toriel _.”_

_She brayed with laughter at her own joke, even more amazing and infectious in person than from behind the door, and Sans started to laugh too, slightly hysterical with relief and anticipation as it finally started to sink in that this was_ happening _. Like some fairy tale, he'd found his Door Lady and now they were all heading to the surface, finally getting their happy ending...or something. It all seemed way too perfect to be real, but Sans had figured out by now that there was no point in worrying any more –he had to hold onto moments like these, no matter how long they lasted._

“ _Nice, nice – you know, Tori, I might just have to take you up on that sometime.”_

“ _It would be my pleasure any time, Sans.” They exchanged final, nervous but excited, grins and Toriel nodded her head towards the door, where the others were waiting for them. “I will see you – as they say – on the other side!”_

_Sans pointed a finger-gun at her in acknowledgement as she hurried through the door to catch up with the others, before looking back at the paper still clutched in his other hand._

_Maybe he wouldn't need it where they were going, but if he'd learned anything, it was that_ maybe _wasn't always enough. Hands shaking just a little, Sans felt a strange, powerful sensation pulsing in his soul as he took a last look at the pie recipe before folding it how it was and placing it carefully back in his right pocket, the one that wasn't full of junk. If everything reset tomorrow, he had to remember this feeling – he had to remember_ her _._

_Sans let out a steady exhale, stuffing both hands back in his pockets as he prepared to join everyone – Papyrus, Toriel, Frisk, all the possibilities stretching ahead of them – and as he teleported his hand tightened reflexively around the note, just to be sure it came with him._

_Just in case he ever needed a reminder._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading and feedback is always appreciated! <3


	6. New to the Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "Each member of your OTP meeting the other’s family for the first time. Does each family approve of the one dating the other? What sorts of shenanigans do they get into?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally back by unpopular demand!! lol okay so this one took way longer than I meant it to, and I'm sure there are bits that could be better - it's my first attempt at writing Flowey and I'm not 100% sure I've got him quite right tbh, but I...tried?? - but I've edited and rewritten this chapter so many times I feel like it's time to just post it already and move on with my life. thanks for sticking with me and as always, I'd really love to hear your thoughts on this one!! And hopefully the next update won't be quite so long lol ^_^;;

"So...finally meeting the family, huh? Seems like things are getting pretty _serious_ between you guys, am I right?"

"...Kid." Sans couldn't help but be amused, if a little puzzled, by Frisk's 'so what exactly are your intentions with my mother' routine as they smirked across the sofa at him. "We've known each other for _how_ long now? Unless I'm missing something here, I feel like maybe that ship's sailed."

"I'm not talking about _me_." They were definitely up to something, a worryingly familiar determined glint in their eye as they turned to Toriel, tugging on her sleeve as she sat with her hands folded in her lap. "There's someone else we thought should join us for a nice _family_ dinner tonight. Right, Mom?"

"Ah...in a sense, I suppose, yes." Toriel seemed much more reluctant, only offering Sans an apologetic smile when he looked to her for an explanation. "Dear, are you _quite_ sure this is a good idea? He does tend to be rather...how should I put this..."

"Mom, don't worry," Frisk assured her, patting her hand. "I feel like we've been making real progress on the whole, um...attitude problem. Anyway, he's got to find out about you guys _sometime_ , right?"

"I suppose, but..."

"We'll be right down!"

Frisk scurried eagerly off upstairs before she could object any further, and Toriel sighed before turning back to Sans, placing a hand gently on his patella. "Sans, I...do apologise in advance for this evening. I did hope we might be able to enjoy a nice, peaceful dinner, but you know how Frisk can be..."

Well, _that_ wasn't ominous at all, but he smiled back anyway to reassure her, linking their fingers together. "Tori, don't sweat it. How bad can it really –" 

"Hey, watch the stem!" A disturbingly familiar squeaky voice pierced the air, interrupting him as they both turned towards the stairs. "Why are we doing this? You know I don't actually need to eat – there's this thing called photosynthesis? That's pretty basic science, Frisk – golly, don't they teach you anything in school? Your mom must be so..."

The contents of the offending flower pot wisely fell silent as he met Toriel's steely gaze, a stark contrast with Frisk's determinedly cheerful smile as they reached the bottom of the stairs and placed the pot carefully on the coffee table.

"Sans, Flowey – you guys, um, remember each other, don't you?"

"How could I forget?" Sans gritted his teeth, hoping his resting smile masked his instinctive unease as he met the flower's belligerently unimpressed stare – he could still feel the vines tightening around him, scratchy and suffocating, remember looking over at Papyrus, at _everyone_ helplessly ensnared around him and only thinking, as the energy drained out of his soul, that he'd seriously screwed up this time..."Hey, buddy. Steal any good souls lately?"

Flowey ignored him entirely, turning his head indignantly back towards Frisk. "Is this some 'cruel and unusual punishment' kinda thing? 'Cause if so, I'm actually..." His eyes widened to comical proportions as the proverbial penny dropped, darting from Frisk to Sans to Toriel and back again. "Wait, is this a – no. No _way_. You're dating _him_?!" He dissolved into hysterical, high-pitched giggles, doubling over at the stem. "That's too rich! M – Toriel, I know you're getting a little over the hill, but gosh – even _you_ must be able to find someone better than some...bag of bones?"

Frisk winced; Sans just smirked, because honestly it was kind of cute if Flowey thought that was going to get to him, like he didn't already know he was punching _way_ above his weight with Toriel.

"Heh – little harsh, but you're not entirely –"

" _Actually_ , I think you'll find you are very much mistaken," Toriel cut him off, her voice sharp and cool as a knife, but Sans could tell from the pink spots rising on her pristine white cheeks that she was _pissed_ , unforgiving eyes trained on Flowey like a laser, "for there is, in fact, no one – no _body_ I would sooner be with, tonight or any other." 

Flowey gulped, wilting back against his pot despite himself, and it was probably one of the most satisfying moments of any timeline, especially when Sans caught Toriel's eye and her mouth twitched at their old corny joke. "Anyway," she continued pleasantly, the fire fizzling out almost as soon as it had appeared as she smoothed down her dress, "I had better get started on dinner. You three..." She narrowed her eyes, a watchful, teacher's gaze over Sans, Frisk and Flowey in turn. "Do try and play nicely, won't you?"

"He's not...always like this," Frisk spoke up after their mother had returned to the kitchen, shuffling their feet guiltily while shooting Flowey a reproachful look. "Sometimes he's nice. Well, kinda. To me, anyway."

"I _tolerate_ you," Flowey corrected them, rolling his beady little eyes. "There's a difference."

Sans glanced longingly back at the closed door, tempted to make an excuse about helping Toriel with dinner, but Frisk was looking increasingly uncomfortable, fidgeting in the silence that followed, and he couldn't help feeling for the kid – they really wanted him and Flowey to be friends, and even if Sans had a pretty good idea of how that was going to work out, he figured he owed it to them to at least try and be nice to the little weed.

"Well, hey, that's progress, right?" he offered. "Good job, buddy. Sounds like you're really...turning over a new leaf."

At least that got a smile out of Frisk, who stifled a giggle behind their hand as Flowey let out a loud groan, drooping dramatically over the edge of his pot.

"Oh, sure, you're _real_ funny bones. Never heard that one before. You know, if you insist on hanging around, the _least_ you could've done is brought your brother along. Now he's _much_ more fun."

Sans frowned, instantly not liking where this was going. "You know my brother?"

Flowey nodded, suddenly lighting up with a sunny smile Sans didn't trust one bit. "Oh boy, we go _way_ back! We had some entertaining little chats back in the day – golly, that one was gullible. He believed _anything_ any old flower told him. Hey, Sans, here's a fun puzzle – how many times do you think I could've killed him? Because, let me tell you, he sure couldn't have made it any easier for me. Seriously – what kind of Royal Guard member leaves himself open and vulnerable to a strange flower like that? When you think about it, I was doing you all a _favour_ when I –"

"But all that was in the past!" Frisk interrupted, desperately lunging forward and clamping both hands across Flowey's mouth before he could finish. "And now you wouldn't ever...new leaf, remember? That whole murdery phase is over – that's what you told me, _remember_ , Flowey? Right...?"

Sans saw their face twist in concern as it faded away, edges bleeding away to black before his eyes as he clenched his fist, struggling to block out the images – he'd tried his hardest to forget those timelines, but sometimes he still got flashes; dust scattering in the wind, bright red scarf garish as blood in the snow as it slipped through his fingers, grabbing for whatever was left; a retreating shadow, sometimes, but he never saw a face. He didn't want to give Flowey the satisfaction, but he could already feel it burning in his soul, white hot _rage_ like nothing he'd felt in a long time, blazing through his bones and creeping up through his socket until Frisk and his surroundings all faded and there was only Flowey, illuminated in a cold blue glow as he took a step forward off the couch.

"Listen. You better stay away from Papyrus, or..."

"Oooh, or _what_? Let me guess – _you're_ going to kill me?" Flowey's smile grew increasingly menacing, mouth stretching into a grotesque grimace as he wriggled free of Frisk's grip and leaned forward, stem stretching out until he was right up in Sans' space, eyes glittering with malice. "And what will your precious Toriel think of that, when she finds out you're just like all the others?" Suddenly, his face shifted, flickering like a TV set into an unsettlingly accurate imitation of Toriel's, her white fur and big, sorrowful eyes gazing out. "Oh, Sans, how could you? To think, I truly thought I could trust you – that I could _love_ you – but now I see how foolish I was –"

"You guys, cut it _out_!" Suddenly, Frisk's voice cut through the darkness as they pushed their way between them, forcing them apart so that Sans stumbled and collapsed back onto the sofa, his vision fading back to normal in time to see Flowey shrinking back into his pot. "Just... _stop_ with all the creepy face stuff, okay? _Both_ of you," they added sternly, turning back towards Sans; he lifted a hand to his cheekbone and saw the magic still pulsating there, rising to the surface instinctively even though he wasn't intending to _do_ anything with it. He shook his skull to let it settle, but as his vision cleared all he could see was the disappointment in Frisk's eyes. "You know, I really thought maybe we were..." They shook their head, silence hanging heavy in the atmosphere between the three of them as they turned away, back towards the door. "Forget it. I'm going to go help Mom with dinner."

"Kid, wait –"

But they were gone before Sans had a chance to defend himself, and he let out a sigh, glancing out of the corner of his socket at Flowey.

"That wasn't very nice, y'know."

"Your _face_ isn't very nice," Flowey replied sulkily; Sans let out a quiet snort of laughter, tempted to come back with something even more childish, but then he remembered the look on Frisk's face, and yeah, that didn't feel too great. It looked like it was up to him to be the _responsible_ one this time, which, welp – this was gonna be interesting.

" _I_ don't care what you think about me," he continued, seriously, "but Frisk really wants us to be friends – yeah, I know, but would it kill you to at least _try_ to pretend to play nice for a while? You know, it might not be so bad."

"Frisk wants everyone to be friends." Flowey laughed bitterly, the words dripping with derision. "That's their _thing_ , right? That's why they had to drag me all the way up here, instead of killing me when they had the chance. I mean, gosh – I came so close to destroying everything in the Underground, and now they want to let me loose on the surface? They'd really risk your _happy ending_ for some...idiotic hero complex, 'cause they just had to prove they could save _everyone_?" His squeaky voice rose with frustration as he cocked his head to one side, widening his eyes in fake concern. "Well, gee – when you put it like _that_ , sounds pretty messed up. Don't you think, _buddy_?"

"Sure. I get that." Sans glanced back at the closed door to the kitchen before lowering his voice, leaning forward to rest his humerus on his patellas. "But what I'm wondering is, if you hate it here so much...why didn't you reset?"

In an instant, Flowey's theatrical shock shifted into the real deal, his stem stiffening in indignation. "You – how'd _you_ know about –"

"Did some research," Sans replied with a shrug, as Flowey squinted suspiciously at him before breaking out into a smirk.

"Golly, isn't today just _full_ of surprises! Alright, I admit it – that's a new one. I guess maybe I didn't explore _every_ single possibility, after all." Flowey leaned forward again, vines creeping out of the bottom of his pot to anchor him in place as he sprouted two leaves and rested his head on them, mimicking Sans' pose. "Well...who says I'm not thinking about it, hmm?" His eyes grew bigger and blacker, voice becoming more distorted like he was speaking through static. "Maybe I'm just biding my time...waiting 'til you all think you're finally safe, free from the nightmares of the past. I could do it, you know. Anytime I wanted, I can turn it all back. Any...moment..."

Flowey kept inching forward, grinning into Sans' unblinking sockets like they were locked in a staring contest – until finally he couldn't hold it in any more and started to laugh, soft snickers turning to full-blown guffaws as Flowey jerked back in surprise.

"Whoa, dude, that's _intense_ ," he eventually managed to get out. "A+ for effort, gotta give you that, but – _pfffft_ – you thought we were safe up here?  Buddy, lemme tell you, I don't even _remember_ being safe from all of this. You. Frisk. The others...heh, that's a good one.” Sans' laughter slowly petered out as he counted them off on his fingers. “There's a lot we didn't figure out, but we knew we were _never_ safe – so hate to break it to ya, but you're really nothing new.”

"What...?" Flowey's nightmare face slowly faded away into something almost inadvertently adorable as he shook his petals, tilting his head in confusion. "And you're saying that doesn't... _scare_ you? Hanging out with the kid who has the power to take everything from you – from Papyrus, from _Toriel_? Everything you've all worked so hard for and suffered so much, and knowing you could _still_ end up right back where you started? Not even a little bit?"

"Nah," Sans shrugged, leaning back and kicking his feet up on the sofa. "Not any more. You wanna know why?"

"Why should _I_ care about your idiotic –"

"I trust Frisk," he continued anyway. "They wouldn't do it, not now. I know it's not their first time – maybe they didn't always get it perfect, heh, who does? But they're a good kid, and I...believe in them." Sans felt a warmth growing deep in his chest – in his soul – and he never realised just how good it felt to be able to say that – to _feel_ it. "Sure, they could reset any time – hell if there's anything I can do about it. All I know is, I spent a long time not trusting, not believing in anyone, and sometimes...sometimes you just gotta appreciate what you have, you know? If I didn't let myself trust Frisk, that they'd come through and do the right thing in the end – even for those who, some would say, _really_ didn't deserve it – we wouldn't have any of this. And I wouldn't have Tori."

"Golly, isn't that just swell for _you_ ," Flowey retorted sarcastically, but there was a glimmer of curiosity in his eyes that wasn't there before. "Frisk sparing me didn't change anything. It doesn't matter what they want – we'll never be _friends_ , not like they are with all of you. Not like it was with..." For a second, he almost looked _sad_ , expression softening as he gazed somewhere into the distance, to timelines past, although it was gone in a flash when he caught Sans' sockets and glared defensively. "It's not like I haven't _thought_ about resetting. I could still do it. I just...I'm just _tired_ of it all." Flowey let out a bitter, world-weary chuckle, and yeah, Sans definitely recognised that feeling. "I'd seen everything down there. Nothing was _fun_ any more, not when I already knew what everyone was going to do, right down to the pitch of their screams. I didn't have anything to stick around for – I just wanted Frisk to finish me off. But they were just too...too _nice_."

Sans had to laugh at the way Flowey screwed up his face in disgust at the word, nodding in solidarity. "Yup, sounds about right. Kid's pretty damn persistent."

"Gosh, it's _sickening_ , really. I had to go along because they just wouldn't quit." Flowey rolled his eyes, but not with quite so much vitriol as before. "I still don't get it, but I guess this place is..." He lifted his head, looking around at Toriel's cute, cosy house. "At least it's _new_. I'll probably get bored of the surface soon, too, but for now – it's not the _worst_ I've ever had it, I guess." He smirked again, but it looked more like a mischievous kid than a being of ultimate evil. "Although who knew there's a timeline where Toriel gets desperate enough to date _you_? Golly, even _I_ almost feel sorry for her, and I literally have no soul!"

Sans just chuckled; he hated to admit it, but Flowey was trying so _hard_ to be intimidating, he was almost starting to find it endearing. “Thanks, bud. I'm sure she'd be real touched to hear that.”

“Heh – you're, um...” Flowey's smile wavered, eyes darting around the room nervously like he suspected Toriel might have been hiding behind the couch all along , “not actually going to _tell_ her I said that, are you?”

“Soup's on!” Frisk burst through the door before Sans even had a chance to consider all the ways he might be able to leverage this newly exposed weak spot. “Hey, you didn't kill each other,” they added brightly. “Good job! If you're lucky, Mom might even give you a sticker.”

Flowey groaned as Sans grinned, reaching out to tap the edge of his flowerpot as he slid off the sofa. “Now you're talking. You need a lift there, buddy?”

Flowey grimaced, but apparently even he wasn't immune to Frisk's hopeful smile at this indication that maybe they'd _bonded,_ or something.

“You know I don't _have_ to stay in the pot,” he grumbled, as Sans picked him up and followed Frisk through to the kitchen. “It's just easier, is all. You better not drop me.”

Tempting as it was, Sans thought, it had nothing on the way Toriel's face lit up as he walked in carrying Flowey, her smile simultaneously astonished, relieved and proud.

 “Oh my goodness – flowers, for _me_?” she exclaimed, clasping her hands together in mock surprise. "Why, Sans, you shouldn't have!"

“Actually, Tori, I might just have to hang onto this one,” he replied, setting Flowey down on top of the pile of books Toriel had thoughtfully placed on his chair. “What can I say – this guy, he really grows on you.”

“ _Ugggghhhh_.” Flowey buried his head in his petals as Toriel snorted with delight and Frisk giggled guiltily. “Are they always like this? How have you not – uhhh...” He faltered as his pot mysteriously wobbled, just as Sans' foot collided with his chair leg under the table. “I _mean_ – how do you stand it?”

“Pretty much,” Frisk sighed sympathetically, reaching out to ruffle his petals. “You just kinda get used to it.”

“Well, don't get used to _this_ , 'cause I'm not hanging around waiting for you losers,” Flowey muttered, flinching away from their hands, but his face immediately brightened when Frisk slid a perfectly sized, snail-patterned watering can across the table. Sans grinned, unable to resist winking as he caught his eye; Flowey stuck his tongue out in retaliation, but somehow he didn't seem quite as threatening.

Frisk beamed and shot Sans a double thumbs-up while Flowey was happily drenching himself; Toriel smiled indulgently, and, psychotic flower sort-of family and all, Sans was starting to feel like this was definitely something he could get used to.

 

* * *

 

 

  
  


"Your Majesty! Dinner...is served!"

"Papyrus, my dear, you know you do not have to call me that," Toriel answered as he knelt extravagantly at her feet, smiling as she took in the impressive spread laid out before her; granted, it was only spaghetti, but everything was beautifully arranged and garnished, the three places set impeccably and cutlery polished to perfection. “This is far from the first time I have had the pleasure of your company, is it not?”

“I know,” Papyrus rose to his feet, sockets shining as he met her eyes with a bright, hopeful smile, “but it's been my dream to cook for the queen ever since...Well, ever since I found out we _had_ a queen! Plus...” He cupped a gloved hand to Toriel's ear in a stage whisper, “my brother, finally bringing home a _date_?! Now _that_ hardly happens every day!"

“Goodness, is that so?” Toriel feigned shock, pressing a hand to her chest and biting back a giggle as she caught Sans' socket as he sat at the table, nonchalantly munching on a breadstick. “Why, I would have imagined the eligible young monsters of Snowdin would be lining up outside your door.”

Papyrus let out a cackling _nyeh heh heh_ , clutching his ribs as though it were the funniest thing he'd ever heard. “For the Great Papyrus, naturally – but _Sans_?! I didn't think he could even find a pair in his sock collection.”

"Alright, bro, take it easy," Sans finally interjected, grinning along despite the hint of blue colouring his cheekbones as Toriel laughed guiltily, both of them turning to look at him. "Ever think maybe you're not the only skeleton around here with high standards?"

Toriel smiled back, bushing a little herself as she turned back to Papyrus with a conspiratorial wink. “Ah, but you see, he is a fast learner. Impressive, what one can achieve with the help of a good teacher, is it not?”

Papyrus nodded thoughtfully as though appraising Sans' performance, before clapping his hands together, positively glowing with pride. “Congratulations, brother – your dating power is way higher than I thought! If you keep it up, who knows – one day, maybe you'll even be as strong as Frisk!”

“Hmm, I am not sure I would go _that_ far just yet; there is always room for improvement,” Toriel quipped, before deciding to follow her child's example and show Sans some mercy by changing the subject, as much as she enjoyed teasing him just a little. “But I digress – surely the greatest significance of this occasion is that I finally have the honour of sampling the Great Papyrus' world-famous spaghetti!”

Papyrus' chest puffed up with pride as he gestured excitedly for her to sit down. “Of course – sit, eat, enjoy! Cooked to perfection just for you, Your – Toriel, if I say so myself. Bone appetit!"

Toriel grinned as she took her place opposite Sans. "Do my ears deceive me, or was that a pun?"

“A _pun_?! Obviously not!” Papyrus wrinkled his nasal cavity as though it were the worst thing imaginable. “It was a...sophisticated play on words.”  
  
“Otherwise known as a pun.”

" _Sans_ , would you just – just stop flapping your mandible for a moment and let the queen enjoy her dinner in peace."

Shaking her head fondly at their squabbling, Toriel lifted a forkful of spaghetti to her mouth. Having been extensively warned that Papyrus' cooking was something of an acquired taste, to put it mildly, she was pleasantly surprised – it was perhaps a little undercooked, but the sauce was thick and rich with a good, strong flavour.

Swallowing, she was just about to pay her compliments to the chef when it hit – a searing heat burning through her throat like nothing she had experienced before. Toriel heard her fork clatter to the floor as her mouth fell open of its own accord and she found herself unable to do anything but pant helplessly, as though her tongue was trying its best to escape the cavern of burning hellfire.

"Tori? Tori, you okay? Stay with me here." Sans' concerned face blurred into an indecipherable white blob as her eyes stung with hot tears and he turned accusingly to his brother. “Pap – what the hell did you _put_ in there?”

"Well – I – you said it was too cold! So I just added some more chili before –"

" _How much_ chili?"

"A few...um...cups?"

Sans hissed something under his breath Toriel would _not_ have approved of under normal circumstances, but for now she could only gasp, thumping the table in a wordless plea for help. “Well, get her some water or something!”

“Water! Yes!” Toriel could just about make out Papyrus frantically searching the fridge, various food items flying through the air. “Oh my god, Sans, what if we've _killed the queen_?!”

“ _We?”_

“Just hold on, Your Majesty! I'm coming to your aid!”

Before Toriel or Sans could respond, Papyrus hurled himself across the table, plates of spaghetti and salad splattering on the floor as he thrust an unidentified bottle in her face; Toriel was so desperate she seized upon it like a long lost lover, gasping with relief as cool, creamy milk hit her throat, soothing the burning sensation. She kept gulping straight from the bottle, draining every last drop until no more remained. Blinking the last of the tears from her sore eyes, she took in the scene of disarray surrounding her: food splattered everywhere, Papyrus still splayed out across the table like a trophy rug and Sans wearing half of his dinner across his skull like an unconvincing wig.

“Toriel! I'm so sorry!” Papyrus was the first to break the silence, sockets drooping as though _he_ might be about to cry next; Toriel was about to reassure him, but he grabbed her face, squeezing her cheeks together inelegantly to prevent her from speaking. “Sssh, no – you must protect the royal tongue! I'm afraid the Great Papyrus has been foiled, once again, by his own lofty ambitions. I just wanted tonight to be...” He sighed, sliding surprisingly gracefully off the table and back onto his feet, only taking a few salad dressings with him, “special.”

“Pfff – Papyrus,” Toriel eventually managed to say, finally prising his hand from her jaw and setting it gently but firmly back on the table, “my dear, please do not worry yourself over this! I am quite all right – in my time, I have attended _many_ more disastrous dinner parties, and none quite so entertaining.” She smiled at him, squeezing his hand in hers in what she hoped was a soothing manner. “In any case, I would even say you have succeeded – for this is certainly one of the most... _memorable_ evenings I have spent, possibly ever. And I would not have it any other way.”

“She's right, bro.” Sans joined in, leaning over to pat his brother on the back. “Don't be upsetti over spicy spaghetti – that's how it goes, right?” Papyrus smiled and nodded, looking more like his usual self as Sans rolled up his tomato-splattered sleeves, uncharacteristically motivated. “Now throw me a bone here and let's get this place cleaned up for dessert.”

“Oh yes, of course – dessert!” Toriel clasped her hands together, trying to conceal her excitement as she caught the knowing glint in his sockets – she had almost forgotten it in all the commotion. Papyrus' brow bone shot up in suspicion, but he was soon smiling again as the three of them set to work, wiping spaghetti from the walls and plucking strands out of places they should not be – most frequently between bones – until the kitchen was once again in an acceptable state to reveal what Toriel hoped would still be the jewel in the crown of their evening.

“Now, this is just a little something I cooked up,” she announced, placing the covered pie down on the table, “in honour of the Great Papyrus' many, many wonderful achievements and services to our kingdom! Though, I confess – such a fitting tribute would not have been possible without the help of your brother here.”

“Pretty sure it would have,” Sans shrugged off the compliment, but slipped his arm around her waist with an affectionate squeeze as he grinned up at her, both barely able to restrain their glee. “Tori just likes to pretend I can be helpful sometimes.”

Despite his modesty, Toriel knew without a doubt as she lifted the cover that her own hands could never have so skilfully crafted the extra special decoration that adorned the top of her usual recipe – or, for that matter, have elicited quite such a perfect reaction, as Papyrus' sockets bulged almost right out of his skull, hands pressed to his cheekbones as a wonderful, seemingly contradictory yet uniquely beautiful symphony of utter rage and unbridled joy played out across his face.

“Oh my _god_ , Sans! Toriel! It's...You...I...”

“What's the matter, bro,” Sans asked innocently as he took his seat, “don't you like our Pa _pie_ rus?”

"Like it?! I...I _love_ it! It's awful! And yet perfect!" Papyrus clutched at his skull in anguish, but it was a broad smile, as warm and dazzling as the sun, that broke out across his face – an even more satisfying sight to behold than his pastry likeness on top of the pie, as he cut carefully around his own image. “Quite an ingenious ruse, Your Majesty,” he conceded, around a mouthful of butterscotch and cinnamon, “even the Great Papyrus must admit – sometimes puns _can_ be palatable, when presented in pie form!”

“Really?” Sans' voice was casual, but Toriel already recognised the sparkle in his sockets at being handed such a golden opportunity. “Well, that's all I kneaded to dough.”

Toriel burst out laughing, unconcerned about the crumbs spraying her dress – it was already liberally stained with spaghetti, anyway, and there were far more important things, like the pride in Sans' smile as he dropped the punchline before joining in with her laughter, or for that matter Papyrus' strangled groan as he shook his skull in despair at the two of them before speaking up again.

“Actually, Toriel – there's one more thing I forgot to give you.”

“Oh?” Toriel inclined her head in curiosity as she set her fork down, praying that it would not be more food – she didn't know if her poor stomach could survive another round. “How sweet – but there is no need, you really do not have to give me anythi–”

Before she could finish her sentence, Papyrus had already produced a sturdy contraption of wood and metal seemingly out of nowhere, presenting it to her with a flourish as she blinked in surprise. “Oh! It's a...”

“A shovel!” he beamed, enthusiastically if a touch unnecessarily. “I read it on the internet – it's a surface tradition!” He cleared his throat, as if reciting from memory. “When someone starts dating your close friend or family member, you're supposed to give them a 'shovel talk'. Except I'm...not really sure what I'm supposed to talk about,” he admitted with a shrug. “But anyway – now you have a shovel, just in case dating Sans ever gets too stressful and you need to go away and plant some flowers!”

“Ah...of course.” Toriel smiled, suppressing her laughter as she glanced slyly over at Sans, whose expression was somewhere between amused, bemused and perhaps even a touch offended. “What a lovely tradition, and a thoughtful gift! I shall treasure it – thank you, my dear Papyrus. As the children say...I _dig_ it.”

She was unable to help herself, a snort escaping as Sans chuckled and Papyrus, for once, did not voice his displeasure, even as his left socket twitched a few times. “It's...going to be like this all the time now, isn't it?”

“'Fraid so, bro,” Sans replied with a shrug, his grin becoming just a little more bashful as he caught Toriel's eye and added, “I, uh...really hope so, anyway. Sorry about that."

"No, you're not." But Papyrus was undeniably smiling, fondly exasperated, a sentiment Toriel was coming to recognise all too well. “But I forgive you, because the Great Papyrus is _nothing_ if not selfless. And...” His voice became quieter, more serious, glancing between Sans and Toriel as the sharp lines of his skull appeared to soften for a moment, “it's a small price to pay, to have my brother back. Sans, I used to...worry about you, you know, back in the Underground. I knew _something_ was wrong, but I just didn't know how to...”

“Pap,” Sans interrupted, his voice catching on the single syllable as he laid a hand on his brother's arm; Toriel bit her lip, an ache in her chest at the rare glimpse of raw emotion that flashed across his face, just for a second, before he ducked his head, letting out a soft chuckle. “Don't you worry your great and powerful head about me, okay? I'm doing great.” Toriel knew he meant it, smile smaller but genuine when he glanced back up at her, then at Papyrus. “Never been better.”

“Thanks to _her_!” Papyrus reached out over his head and grabbed Toriel's hand, holding it in the air like a prize fighter. “Toriel! Despite your...equally questionable sense of humour, I'm honoured to pledge my loyalty to you both as former member of the Royal Guard and current mascot of monsterkind – but, mostly, as someone to share the considerable responsibility of looking out for my brother.”

"Oh!" Toriel found herself unexpectedly emotional at the sincerity of Papyrus' words, the warmth shining in his sockets – Sans was indeed lucky, as he had always said, to have such a cool guy looking out for him, and, as she squeezed his hand gratefully in return, Toriel knew that she was, too. “From the Great Papyrus himself, it is indeed an honour and a privilege. Rest assured, between the two of us, I trust we will not find the task so... _pun_ ishing.”

“Okay, guys,” Sans interjected, evidently trying and failing to appear annoyed at this assessment of his character, “that's sweet and all, but seriously, what _am_ I here? A skeledog?”

Toriel and Papyrus glanced at each other, a telepathic understanding passing between them, and without a word they reached out and grabbed him, each hooking an arm around his ribs to pull him up into a three-way hug. Sans let out a yelp of half surprise, half laughter as he was effortlessly lifted off the ground and firmly sandwiched between them, but Toriel knew he had no desire to escape even if they had any intention of letting him. Papyrus leaned in to bump his skull affectionately against his brother's as they clung together, and Toriel felt a surge of tenderness as she held onto both of them, at once familiar yet renewed – the need to nurture and protect, to preserve the love she felt so strongly in this moment, enveloping all three of them and warming her through to her soul.

“I know dinner didn't exactly go according to plan, guys, – but I gotta say, this has been really uplifting.”

“I could still drop you,” Papyrus threatened, but he was still smiling, as sincere as it was reluctant as Toriel giggled, leaning in to steal a quick nuzzle against Sans' cheekbone.

"I do not think he will.”

“I know,” Sans replied, running his fingers through the fur on the back of Toriel's neck while reaching out to pat Papyrus' skull with his other arm, somehow maintaining a perfect balance between the two – until he wobbled, almost bringing them all crashing down before they caught him, laughing, stronger together. "I think I got a pretty good thing going on here."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and feedback is always appreciated! <3


	7. Laughter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "Your OTP making each other laugh. Jokes? Stories? Tickle fights?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> literally just like...1.5k of dorks laughing. I have no real justification for this.

Sans' memory is hazy at the best of times, but no matter how many years or timelines go by, he's pretty sure he'll never forget the first time he heard Toriel laugh. 

Some things from back in the Underground, he's still not sure whether they happened, or how they happened, or if they happened to someone else entirely – but that day, he remembers almost better than anything. The pause before the punchline, that fleeting moment of uncertainty as he realised he wasn't alone – and then those glorious, unrestrained, braying howls of laughter like nothing he'd ever heard before, right when he was starting to think he'd heard it _all_ before, that they were all just locked in the same pointless loop until the next reset. Maybe you'd call it fate or destiny or something, if you believed in that stuff. Sans never did, but he _did_ know back then, leaning back against that ancient forest door and listening to her laugh at everything he said like he was the funniest, the most fascinating guy in the world – and she was pretty damn hilarious herself – that nothing was ever going to be the same.

Sans always knew he wanted to keep making Toriel laugh for as long as she'd let him, but really, he was pretty much gone from the first time he saw it in person; not just the sound, but the way her whole face transforms as she clutches her belly, doubling over or throwing her head back as she laughs, throat bared and all her fangs on show with a totally unashamed, raw, almost primal energy that has absolutely _no_ business being as attractive as it is. Sans isn't expecting to be as into it as he is, but hey, he's always been down for learning new things. Specifically, figuring out just how many different noises he can get Toriel to make – snorts and shrieks and howls, and sometimes he can even make her bleat, when he gets the ticklish spot right behind her ear.

He gets to learn a lot of her different laughs: there's the lighter, almost musical titter when she's in a good mood, pleased with herself as she pulls another delicious dessert out of the oven, or recites a particularly interesting snail fact or historical tidbit from school to Sans or Frisk or anyone else around to hear it, and then there's the shrill, high-pitched giggle that pops up when she's nervous or uncomfortable or trying to hide something.

Toriel is a terrible liar, Sans figured out pretty fast; she feels too much to be able to keep it from showing on her face, her eyes too wide and expressive to hide whatever's on her mind and in her heart. A little inconvenient if you're trying to plan a surprise party, sure, but Sans has to admit he's always loved that about her, how open she is and how easily he can read her when he gets to know her tells. Maybe it's a little because he got a little too good at pretending himself over the timelines – but mostly it's just the way Toriel's mouth twitches or how she scrunches up her nose right before she cracks, secrets spilling out in breathless, hysterical whoops, and then Sans starts too before he even has a chance to press her for details, until they're both just giggling like numbskulls at nothing, but it's worth it. It's always worth it.

The one that might actually be his favourite, though, that usually comes later. When they're just chilling on the couch, Toriel with a book on her lap and Sans sprawled out with his legs hanging off the end of the sofa and his skull resting against the crook of her arm or shoulder. He'll be telling her about his new genius idea of giving out discounts for every ten hot dogs or cats a customer can get on their head, or how someone's been stealing beer mats from Grillby's and it's definitely _not_ him, despite what anyone says, because he's been pretty much set for life since back in the Snowdin days. Toriel might only be half listening, peering over her glasses at her lesson plan, but she'll still laugh, a soft, indulgent chuckle as she rubs the palm of her hand tenderly over Sans' skull, warm and comforting as a freshly baked cinnamon bunny.

It might not be as loud or as long as the first time, but it's real, and it's _her_ , and it's perfect.

(Maybe later, some time further down the line, Sans will tell her he's pretty sure he's been in love with her ever since that first day, when he first heard her laugh. Toriel will laugh at that too and insist he's just flattering her, that he couldn't possibly have known that back then, when she was just a voice behind a door – but she'll still reward him with a kiss on his skull or a nuzzle against his cheekbone, and Sans still thinks that maybe, in some way, they've both always known it was true anyway.

Once, back in the Underground, he heard Toriel laugh and he started to feel like maybe there was hope, maybe there was still something, some _one_ out there he could believe in. Someone who might be able to make all the timelines he'd trudged through over and over again worth it in the end.

Now, on the surface, he hears that laugh every day and he knows he was right.)  
  


* * *

 

 

Toriel has learned many things, in her time, and come later to learn that perhaps not all of them were true. But if there is one thing that she has only come to realise more and more over the years, it is that one must be able to laugh.

Perhaps she had not realised just how much she had missed it until she met Sans; swapping jokes through that old forest door, she felt more alive than she had done in decades, simply to laugh again and to share that joy with someone who sincerely appreciated her jokes, genuine mirth rather than polite, insincere titters out of a desire to appease their queen. Toriel knows well that a smile can conceal a multitude of complications, because people rarely look beneath the surface as long as it reflects what they want to see, reassuring them of what they have already decided to be true – and having known him only as a voice, the first time she finds herself quite fascinated by Sans' appearance, the hard edges and sharp contours of his skull, strikingly different from her own pliable flesh and fur, and his teeth bared in a seemingly ever-present smile, a mask to the world of permanent amusement or indifference.

Yet Toriel has lingered for many hours listening to Sans laugh, and she only grows to appreciate the differences more from up close, when they are firing puns back and forth at one another; the subtle yet unmistakable shift in Sans' smile from merely a fixture to a genuine grin, his warm chuckle as instantly comfortable and familiar as from behind the old forest door, yet immeasurably more wonderful, more satisfying to behold in the flesh and bone– especially when she is the reason for it. Sometimes, when something truly tickles his funny bone, a tiny dimple appears in his left cheekbone, and it is one of Toriel's favourite things in the world. 

Sans may have the superior comic timing of the two, maintaining a naturally deadpan delivery up until the moment he drops the punchline; indeed, Toriel is almost envious at times, because she is prone to giving the game away by laughing at her own joke before she can tell it – but she can still surprise him every once in a while, relishing the moment Sans' sockets widen before he lets out that wonderful long _pfffft_ of laughter when she sneaks in a pun before he does, or recalls the somewhat perplexing incident when a child asked they could have their milk from _Toriel_ instead of the cow on the carton. He'll turn to her with a high five or fist bump, which Toriel has just about learned to catch, but even if she does not they are usually both laughing too hard by then for it to matter.

(She may also not be above more devious means, having discovered that skeletons are indeed ticklish – or hers is, at least, especially his ribs and lower spine, and blowing a raspberry there is quite an effective method of persuading Sans to move when he does not wish to, which is often. Until he retaliates, digging his fingers into Toriel's sensitive sides until she is helpless with giggles, and war has been declared, both of them rolling around the bed tickling each other until someone pleads for a truce. Or – on one unfortunate occasion – until Frisk walks in and, having evidently misunderstood what they have just witnessed, runs away again covering their eyes with both hands and yelling “sorry oh my gosh Mom I'm so sorry I didn't know you were I _really_ didn't mean to –“ before running straight into a wall.)

But sometimes it is the moment just before, when Frisk and Papyrus are eagerly talking about their hard day's “ambassadoring” and something will remind them of an earlier joke. Toriel has only to catch Sans' eye, that dangerously infectious twinkle of amusement in his sockets, and they are laughing before either has even said anything, her braying snorts and his deeper chuckles intertwining and building to something louder, stronger, virtually unstoppable until there are tears rolling down Toriel's cheeks and her stomach aches, but it is surely the sweetest pain of all. Frisk and Papyrus will shake their heads, exchanging fondly exasperated looks over their respective family members, but they know by now not to take offence; that it is just Sans and Toriel being Sans and Toriel.

Eventually, they will sober up, the warmth in her soul remaining even as their laughter fades away. Toriel looks at Sans, sees the kaleidoscope of emotions somehow contained within that smile – laughter and trust and love, all for her, so much brighter and better than she ever dreamed it could be, ever since that first time she heard him back in the Underground. Leaning against each other long after they have stopped laughing, his head on her shoulder and her cheek resting against his skull, she feels like she is home.

As long as Toriel can laugh – and as long as she has Sans to laugh with – she knows she has nothing to fear.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading and feedback is always appreciated! <3


	8. First Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “Exactly what it sounds like: make a piece inspired by/about your OTP's first kiss.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edit: check out this gorgeous [ART](https://68.media.tumblr.com/d11fd93d24438b26e790d4e7299151a5/tumblr_op180k9GKX1uxr074o1_540.jpg) by the wonderful [kuroaokigahara/jeaimelafrance](http://jeaimelafrance.deviantart.com/) !! <333
> 
>  
> 
> * You remember you're terrible at writing kissing.  
> * You also remember you have no clue how tf Sans' anatomy works.  
> * …  
> * You decide to wing it.

Toriel has surely lived through enough unlikely turns of events that nothing ought to surprise her any more – and yet, she must admit, it _ does _ feel rather embarrassing, at her age, to find herself once again worrying about whether or not the boy she likes wants to kiss her.

That is not to say that there is any _problem_ between herself and Sans, of course – he is wonderful, sweet and funny and while it may be a little scary, at first, opening herself up to the possibility of romance again after everything that happened with Asgore , there is absolutely no one she would rather take the chance with. The physical differences between them have never been an issue; they may get the odd stare, but monsters choosing a partner outside of their own species is now quite commonplace, far from the taboo it was back when she was last courting.

Toriel has never once found it a problem that Sans is a skeleton; quite the opposite, in fact, for she cannot help but find the contrast between them quite exciting, still fascinated by the hard, smooth lines of his bones, strong yet vulnerable under his clothes, and the sensation of them against her own soft flesh and fur – so very different from being with Asgore, or indeed anyone she can recall holding this closely. But there are also – she cannot help but be increasingly aware – certain...complications that can arise when dating someone with, in the most literal sense, no meat on his bones.

It is not as though Toriel and Sans have _never_ kissed – or least she has kissed him, pressing her lips lightly to his skull or cheekbone, a tender but fairly chaste gesture similar to how she kisses Frisk goodnight. It is perfectly pleasant, but as time passes, she finds herself growing increasingly...curious, about whether it might ever be possible to express her affection more, well, _intimately_. It feels so good to be close to Sans, laughing with him, leaning against him on the sofa, and she cannot help the sigh of pleasure that escapes as he absent-mindedly plays with her ears, instinctively arching into the touch as he strokes his fingers through the fur on the back of her neck. She recognises the first stirrings of desire from somewhere deep in her soul, rising to her cheeks as her mind begins to wander to places it has not visited in a very long time indeed, and hopes simultaneously that Sans will not notice – and that he will.

For she is also aware that whether Sans _can_ kiss her and whether he _wants_ to are two different questions. Toriel has no reason to doubt that he wants to be with her, and finds her attractive, but he has not yet given her any indication of whether he too wants their relationship to...progress, in such a way. Perhaps how they are is enough for him – and if that is the case, then it is enough for Toriel too, for she certainly does not want to pressure him into anything he might not be comfortable with, or indeed physically capable of. She is quite content just to cuddle up on the sofa; she is with Sans, after all, and that is what matters, not whatever fleeting desires of the flesh she may or may not experience. This is enough, just resting her chin lightly on top of Sans' skull while he's telling her about something that happened at Grillby's last night, even if she is a little distracted watching the movement of his jaw as he talks and wondering what it might feel like to...

"Tori?"

Toriel blinks, startled out of her reverie as Sans glances up at her with a questioning look. “Hmm?”

“Everything okay? You seem a little, uh...distracted tonight.”

“Oh, do I? How funny!” Toriel forces a brittle, unconvincing little laugh as Sans raises his brow bone and she feels her cheeks heating up; she knows he sees right through her, but mercifully he does not say anything. “No, I am fine. I was just, um...thinking."

"Sounds dangerous." Sans grins, before shifting position on the sofa so he is looking into her eyes. "About what?"

"Oh...nothing much, just...” Toriel can feel her heart beating faster as she falters, increasingly aware of how there is barely an inch between them. Sans is still looking at her, the light in his sockets dancing somewhere between amused and intrigued, and she is going to have to explain herself _somehow_ , unless...

Before she loses her nerve, Toriel moves forward to close the short distance between them – just as Sans moves, so that she misses his mouth and instead bumps her head straight into his skull, the sudden, sharp pain making her yelp with surprise.

“Ow – oh _shit_ , Tori, sorry!” As they are both reeling from the blow, Sans reaches out to run a hand tentatively over the lump that is probably forming on Toriel's head, while rubbing his own skull with his other hand. “Are you...?”

His sockets are wide with concern at first, but the moment they meet Toriel's eyes they both inevitably dissolve into laughter, tinged with a peculiar mix of relief and guilt as they fall back against the sofa.

“Do not worry, Sans, I am – I am _fine_ ,” she manages eventually to reassure him, after their laughter gives way to a silence that is neither awkward nor completely comfortable. “Even if that was, I confess, not...quite what I was hoping for.”

“Heh, right...sorry, that was – that was my bad.” Sans scratches at the back of his skull, ducking his head from her gaze as the first hints of blue begin to colour his cheekbones. “I probably should've figured...”

“No, it is not your fault – _I_ really ought to have have, ah...made my intentions clearer.” Toriel clears her throat, glancing down at her own clasped hands before summoning up a smile, hopefully bright enough to distract from their mutual embarrassment. “But, truly, there is no problem! Of course, I understand if it is not possible for you to – or if you do not want to...”

"Tori – I want to,” Sans interrupts, and the uncharacteristic urgency in his voice sends a wave of butterflies through Toriel's stomach as he reaches for her hand, linking their fingers together. “Believe me, I _really_ want to. I just, uh...haven't exactly figured out how yet.” He offers her a self-deprecating, vaguely apologetic smile as he rubs conspicuously at his own jaw. “I guess I just didn't wanna mess up and...hurt you, or something.”

Toriel smiles, affection swelling in her chest – he is so sweet to be concerned about her, if misguided. “Sans,” she says, squeezing his hand reassuringly in return, “it is okay. I trust you – I know you could _never_ hurt me. So, ah, I take it perhaps you have not...” She hesitates, not wishing to make things any more awkward than they have to be, “kissed anyone before?”

“Nope. Y'know, having no lips and all, it's...not really something I ever thought about much. Before you, I mean,” he adds, smile turning more sheepish as the blush creeps up along his cheekbones up to where his ears would be. “ _Now_ , I think about it – oh wait, actually. I guess there was that one time...”

“Oh?” Toriel's ears prick up, in spite of her efforts not to sound too interested, and Sans nods.

"So, this one night at Grillby's, Bun's doing his usual thing, complaining there's no hot drinks or guys around. Just to make things interesting, Big Mouth bets him a burger he's still not gonna find anyone to smooch all night – pretty safe bet, 'cause this is Snowdin, there's six inches of snow outside, it's not likely anyone new is gonna show up, right? So it gets to closing time, Grillbz is about to kick us out and we're all waiting for Bun to pay up – until, right at the last moment, he turns around and plants one on me. And I mean _right_ on me."

“Oh _my_! ” Toriel gasps, clasping a hand to her mouth as if she is scandalized, but a snort of laughter escapes as Sans pulls a face at the memory. “You have never told me _that_ story before. Hmm, I wonder if perhaps I should be worried...?

“You know what they say about bunnies, am I right?” Sans quips with a wink, laughing too when she elbows him in the ribs in retaliation. “No, seriously, it, uh...didn't really feel like I was missing out on too much.”

“The first time so often is a...learning curve,” Toriel agrees, smiling both with amusement and relief as the tension feels somewhat diffused – although not completely, the question still hovering in the air until she glances coyly back at Sans. “But it can certainly get better. That is...if one is willing to try.”

“Yeah? Okay,” he answers, as casually as if they are discussing the weather, but his smile is just as wide, and just a touch nervous, as she can feel her own is, as the distance between them seems to grow ever smaller. “I could do that. Try – again, I mean.”

Toriel simply nods, and she is sure her heart is about to burst from anticipation as every moment before they touch seems to last a lifetime – but this time she is careful, and Sans does not move away as she strokes her thumb along his jaw, gently tilting his face up to meet hers before she presses feather-light kisses to the top of his skull, and then down across both cheekbones until she reaches the spot where his jaw meets the top of his spine. She lingers there for a moment, a spark of excitement igniting in her soul when she feels Sans react, a quiet but unmistakable hitch of breath as she nuzzles teasingly at the underside of his jaw before moving back to his mouth. Her lips hover there for a moment, wordlessly asking for permission, until she feels his mouth open up to hers.

It is certainly different to anything Toriel has experienced before; Sans' mouth is dry, like the rest of him, but much warmer than she imagined, almost as though she can feel the energy of his soul responding, entwining with her own as she tentatively explores his jaw with her lips, the unique texture and crevices there. She senses Sans is holding himself back, perhaps for fear of hurting her, but when she flicks her tongue experimentally against his upper jaw he makes a sound she can only describe as a moan, a low, appreciative hum that reverberates through every inch of her body to her very soul. He holds on just as Toriel is about to draw back, pulling her closer as he cups her cheeks, bony fingers stroking through her fur, and returns the kiss by catching her bottom lip between his teeth; a gentle, teasing little nip sending an unexpected but not unwelcome shiver down her spine as she hears herself let out a surprised squeak, and feels Sans grin against her mouth.

“So, uh...wow.” Sans breaks the silence after they separate with a soft, amazed chuckle, sockets wide and cheekbones flushed, and he is – by far – the most adorable thing Toriel has seen in centuries, if not ever. “So _that's_ what that's about, huh. Y'know, I think I'm starting to get it.”

“You are? Wonderful.” Toriel can hardly contain her joy as they sit just grinning at each other like a pair of fools, flushed and giddy as one far younger than her years. “Well – do I not always say that it is never too late to learn?

“Uh-huh, yep, totally – with you on that one, Tori.” Sans strokes his chin for a moment as though deep in serious thought, but he still cannot conceal the charmingly goofy grin stretching from whatever the skeleton equivalent of ear-to-ear is. “Feels like I could definitely use some more practice, though – give me a chance to catch up, you know? With the right teacher...”

“Is that so?” Toriel raises an eyebrow, but cracks when Sans waggles his brow bone, his sockets positively glowing with amusement, but also something else – something new and intense and exciting, stirring some indescribable feelings deep in her soul as she giggles before playfully pushing him away. “Well now. I believe I _may_ be able to assist you with that.”

“I'll work myself down to the bone,” he promises, and Toriel snorts softly as he falls back against her, lazy and comfortable. The joke may be old, but she cannot deny the energy between them feels new, a world of possibilities that may have just opened up for them already teasing at the corners of her mind.

That is the wonderful thing about learning: truly, one never stops, no matter how much knowledge they have already accumulated. Toriel knows that despite all her wisdom, there is still much she has yet to learn – about herself, about Sans, about everyone and everything around them – and she fully intends to savour every second of it.

No matter what may lie ahead – she is with Sans, and that is more than enough.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading and feedback is always appreciated! <3


	9. Thirdwheeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "Your OTP plus a third wheel. Is it awkwardly quiet, or chaotically crazy?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * You arrive at the ship war 2 years late without Starbucks.
> 
> ...okay sorry I really need to stop with that. This was definitely an...interesting one to write, lol. I hope I did okay with Asgore, I'm always nervous writing a character for the first time and I'm def not as confident with him as some others, but yeah - tried, possibly failed, etc~ As always I'd love to hear what you guys thought and hopefully enjoy the thing! ^_^

The thing was, it wasn't that Sans was actively _avoiding_ Asgore.

That made it sound like he didn't like the guy, or even like he was scared of him or something – neither of which were true. He was a decent guy, and he'd been a good king – or he'd tried his best, anyway, and now he was doing a pretty solid job working together with Frisk and Papyrus to help monsters and humans understand one another better. Sans was happy for him, now that he got to spend his days working on the school garden instead of collecting human souls; it was nice to see Asgore so relaxed, humming to himself as he lovingly tended to the flowers that Toriel and the kids had planted yesterday.

Toriel, who he was married to for millennia. Not that that even mattered, really, because they were all mature adults here, which was why Sans thought it was _great_ that Toriel and Asgore were finally starting to be friends again, even with all that capital-H History between them. Could've made things really awkward, but it was fine, everything was chill. Sans was just chilling over here for a moment, waiting for Asgore to move on to another part of the garden until he met Toriel for lunch because Asgore was obviously busy. Sans _could_ go say hi, obviously, but he'd hate to disturb him, even though he was sure they'd have a totally normal and not at all awkward conversation about...tea? Flowers? Literally anything in the world except –

"Why are you hiding in the bushes?"

Sans jumped as his train of thought was rudely interrupted, turning around to find himself eye-to-socket with a little girl with blonde pigtails and a suspicious expression.

"I'm not hiding," he told her, trying to play it cool. "I'm –"

"Are you _spying_? Are you planning something evil? Are you going to steal our souls?!"

"Sure, why not. Hand 'em over." Bad call, he realised instantly, as the girl recoiled in horror, taking a deep breath as though she was about to scream for help until Sans raised both arms in surrender. "Whoa, kid, kid, I'm _joking_. I'm just waiting for someone, okay?"

"That was a _joke_? You're not very funny." She shot him an unimpressed look as Sans wished he had 1G for every time he'd heard that – but the girl was smiling now, a worrying glint in her eye as she reached out and grabbed him by the wrist. “But I bet I can help you find them! They're probably in class – Miss Toriel will know. She knows _everything_.”

“Thanks, but really, I'm...” Sans tried to resist as she attempted to tug him in the direction of the school, but she had a surprisingly strong grip, so his options were basically a. let his arm fall out of its socket (classic party trick, but it tended to freak humans out, which wasn't exactly what he wanted right then), or b. be a big bones and face Asgore, who by now had glanced up from the flowers. He looked across the schoolyard, shielding his eyes from the sun, and waved.

"Oh, Sans! Howdy!"

"Hey...there he is." Sans grinned through gritted teeth as he waved back like he'd only just spotted him. "Thanks, kid. You've been real helpful."

She seemed pretty pleased with that, beaming with pride before she dashed off back into the school as Sans shuffled over to Asgore's well-kept flowerbed.

"Heya, Asgore. Nice day, huh?"

"Indeed, it's beautiful," he agreed, looking around at his handiwork with a satisfied smile before wiping the sweat from his brow. "Just swell for these little guys. Ah, you're waiting for Tori, I assume? She should be finished with class any moment –"

His last words were drowned out by the piercing _brinnnnggggg_ of the school bell, followed by an outpouring of kids, all yelling, laughing and shoving each other as they raced to the playground. After a while, Toriel appeared in the doorway, trailing behind them with an impossibly huge file clutched to her chest. She looked a little stressed, frowning as she glanced around the schoolyard, but her face lit up with a smile when she spotted Sans and he waved her over to them.

"Sorry if I am a little late, dear!" Toriel wrapped her arms around him, pressing a swift kiss to the top of his skull in greeting. "There was an incident with a paper aeroplane...the culprit did not come forward, but I have my suspicions. Ah, Asgore, hello!" she added, smiling at her ex-husband with just a few more teeth than usual. "How...wonderful that you are _both_ here! Oh, and just look at our freesias!" She knelt down gracefully to inspect the flowers, inhaling deeply as she closed her eyes in bliss. " _Mmmm_. Delightful – they really brighten up the place, do they not?"

"That's just what I was thinking." Asgore beamed, practically glowing from her approval as he brushed a hand through his luxuriant hair, shaking his head so it gleamed in the sunshine. Good thing Sans wasn't the jealous type, because even Aaron would probably feel inadequate next to this guy. "You always did have such a good eye – heh, nose, for these things, Tori. Oh...of course." The light in his eyes dimmed, just for a moment, as he glanced from Toriel to Sans. "You two are...?"

"Yes, we are," Toriel answered, slipping her arm around Sans' shoulders as she rose to her feet in one smooth motion. She was smiling like Nice Cream wouldn't melt, but there was an almost challenging glint in her eye as she looked at Asgore, as though she was daring him to object, and – okay, this was getting a little weird, but Sans couldn't exactly complain, despite his attempts not to look _too_ smug as Toriel pulled him gently closer to her.

"That's right. I do recall Frisk mentioning something to that effect." Asgore kept smiling too, his jaw tightening with visible effort. "Well. Congratulations."

"Thank you," Toriel said stiffly. 

An uneasy silence filled the space between them, hanging in the air like the ghost of exes past. Asgore cleared his throat, dropping his eyes back down to the flowers; Toriel adjusted her reading glasses as she glanced around at the kids playing around them, happily oblivious; and Sans racked his skull to think of something, _anything_ to say before he accidentally blurted out a terrible old joke about being on his way to steal yo girl, which he somehow didn't think would get many laughs in the circumstances.

"Hey – speaking of Frisk," he offered eventually, "didn't you guys just have that, uh, that meeting thing? How'd that go?"

"Oh, yes!" Asgore seemed equally relieved for the change of subject, nodding eagerly. "I think we are making progress. Naturally there is some...resistance, to the idea of a fully integrated community. A few people are still pushing for human-only spaces. But I think Frisk may have talked them around in the end."

"That is such wonderful news! Of course, I did not doubt that they would." Toriel smiled, warm with pride as she clasped her hands together. "That child can certainly be very persuasive. In fact, I have been talking to the school board about arranging some guest speakers – something to highlight the more, um, positive side of human-monster relations through the ages. I think the children will enjoy it, and of course, it is important to build our understanding of one another.”

"That sounds like an excellent idea, de – _Tori_." Asgore coughed in a valiant attempt to hide his slip of the tongue, reddening under his beard, but recovered as he turned to Sans. "And we couldn't have done it without your brother, of course – the humans adore him. Well, after those poisoning rumours were cleared up...but he's doing wonders for our image. They're very excited about the...merchandising opportunities, I hear."

"Yeah, he's jonesing for his own brand of spaghetti," Sans grinned, a warm, fuzzy mixture of pride and relief growing in his soul. Obviously, he knew his little bro would be a pro at his new job: he had a 100% success rate at making friends with humans, vs 0% at capturing them. But it was also pretty nice now that he was dedicating himself to something where the chances of getting his soul shattered into pieces were considerably lower – not that that meant Sans wasn't still keeping a close socket on some of those humans. "I just hope all the fame doesn't..." He nodded in the direction of Asgore's impressive hedge-Papyrus, watching over them all with his permanently excited smile, "go to his head."

"Oh – to his _head_!" Toriel let out a snorting giggle, clasping one hand to her mouth and nudging Asgore with the other. "Oh dear, I fear we may already be too late for that! Do you get it?"

"Of course, yes – that's...a good one." Asgore chuckled too, politely if not quite as enthusiastically. "Indeed, as that one seems so popular, I believe that shrub on the other side is due for a trim – perhaps I ought to try my paw at _you_ next, Sans. Complete the set, hmm?"

"Uhhh, _me_? You sure about that?" Sans wasn't totally sure whether they were still joking or not, but he laughed along a little incredulously. "I mean, Pap's the mascot here. I'm just some nobody selling hot dogs."

" _And_ cats!" Toriel chipped in, disproportionately but adorably proud either of Sans or of herself for remembering, or both, as she squeezed his shoulder. "Though, of course, we cannot allow outside food..."

"...on school grounds, I know," Sans finished with her, with just a hint of teasing as he slung an arm affectionately around her waist. "It's all good, Tori, I left it outside this time."

Asgore smiled at them, a wistful look in his eye as he inclined his head thoughtfully. "No need to be modest, Sans – that is hardly _all_ you are. After all, you...you clearly make Tori happy, and I would certainly say that is something worth immortalising."

"Asgore, _please_!" Immediately, Toriel stiffened, her voice rising with indignation as she folded her arms over her chest and Sans let go of her, quickly stuffing his hands back into his pockets as if she was on fire, which was sort of looking like a possibility. Asgore's face fell, his eyes wide with hapless confusion.

"What...What did I say?"

"You are talking as though I am some sort of... _charity case_ that needs to be looked after!" she snapped, pink rising to her cheeks as she glared at him over the top of her glasses.

"Tori, come on, you _know_ that isn't what I –"

"I am not having this conversation in front of the children," she cut him off sharply, and with the centuries of history in those heated glances passing literally over his head – plus having absolutely _no_ idea how he was supposed to react in this situation – Sans was starting to wonder if he was included in that.

"Miss Toriel! Miss Toriel!"

Fortunately or unfortunately, depending where you were standing, an actual kid chose that moment to come running up to them. Toriel's expression immediately softened, her eyes crinkling in concern as she bent down to his level.

"Whatever is the matter, David?"

"That dog's back, and he – he stole my lunch!" he gasped, blinking up at her with tearful eyes. "I tried to get it back but he ran away, so Grant threw his shoe at him, but then he caught it in his mouth and now we can't..."

"Oh dear goodness – no! No throwing! I keep telling him..." Toriel let out a long sigh, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her muzzle before summoning up a determinedly reassuring smile. "Alright, my child, do not worry – just show me where you last saw that dog, okay? I will get your lunch back for you, and Grant's shoe, and...whatever else he may have absorbed this time." She cast an apologetic glance back over her shoulder, mouthing 'sorry' before she hurried away. "Grant! _Grant_! Put that football down this instant!" 

She disappeared into the crowd of children, letting David lead her by the hand. Asgore let out a deep, mournful sigh, staring after her.

"I do not think she has quite forgiven me yet."

"Hey, she'll, uh...she'll come round," Sans offered, shuffling his feet; honestly, he kind of felt for the guy. He was trying, even if he was also making everything even more painfully awkward than it already was. "She's just got a lot on her plate right now. Kids, y'know?"

"I do know." Asgore scratched at his beard, silence dragging out between them before he spoke again. "Sans, I know this is a...sensitive subject, for all of us. I suppose you're probably expecting me to say something like: 'I'll break every last one of your bones if you ever hurt Tori in any way'."

Sans blinked, a startled and slightly inappropriate laugh escaping because – okay, that was just a _little_ bit too specific to buy that he hadn't at least thought it."I, uh, I didn't really think you'd say..."

"I never wanted to be that sort of king. To be feared." Asgore picked up his watering can, shifting his gaze back to the flowers as he crouched over them, brows knitting together in a thoughtful frown. "All I wanted was to give everyone some _hope_ , even when I had none myself. But that is still no excuse for what I did, how I filled the Underground with such fear and hatred towards humans. I suppose I...I convinced myself that it was a matter of justice for my people. I wanted them to know what it felt like, to lose everything and everyone they held dear. After all, I – I had nothing left to lose myself, so it no longer mattered what happened to me in the process."

His voice was calm as he watered the freesias, but his grip tightened around the watering can, veins bulging through his arms as if struggling against memories, and – maybe Sans hadn't been around as long, but he still felt it, all the pent-up anger and frustration and despair simmering under the surface. He still remembered, maybe in some timeline long since erased, looking down at his own hands, covered in dust. He didn't know whose, or how it got there, but he remembered feeling like...

"Doesn't help, though, does it?" he mumbled, almost to himself, but it was enough to catch Asgore's attention as he glanced up to meet Sans' sockets. "Being angry, I mean. It doesn't really change anything. Whatever – whoever you've lost, it doesn't bring 'em back."

"I..." Asgore hesitated; in their current position, they were almost the same height, and Sans couldn't help noticing how similar his eyes were to Toriel's: the same well-aged, tired eyes in a deceptively youthful face. Eyes that had seen so much, and kept so much; that still carried the pain of the past, but also a glimmer of hope for the future. "No," he agreed, the corners of his mouth finally lifting in a small, guarded but grateful smile, "it doesn't. And it is certainly no thanks to me that we did make it to the surface in the end – but perhaps this is the way it should have happened. It is wrong to blame the humans of today for the transgressions of the past; bringing war upon innocent people, simply for being what they are, would make me no more noble than those who drove us underground all those centuries ago. I realise that now. Nothing can ever replace my..." Asgore's words seemed to catch in his throat, just for a moment, and he quickly rose to his full height, blinking hard as he set down the watering can. "What _any_ of us have lost, or indeed that which we have taken from others. But here, perhaps...I have a second chance, to build something better. A future in which humans and monsters can finally live in peace. And now, Toriel is finally..." He paused again, smile wavering. "Well. I won't deny it: I missed my wife terribly, and yes, there was a time when I still hoped maybe we could be...together, as we were. But she has made her feelings clear, and I understand – we cannot cling to the past. Perhaps it is time for us all to move on, as she has moved on with you."

Oh, boy – there it was. There was no jealousy or resentment in his tone, and somehow that only made it harder, but Sans just about managed to meet his eyes, flashing a self-deprecating grin as he scratched the back of his skull. "Heh...yeah, I guess you could put it like that. Hey, uh, just for the record, I'm as surprised as you are."

"Oh, I wasn't surprised." Asgore smiled, a little bittersweet, but with genuine fondness shining through. "I could tell Tori liked you, from the moment I saw you two together. I ought to know, after all – the way she looked at you, I hadn't heard her laugh like that in...well, certainly for far too long. I meant what I said, you know. Heaven knows, Toriel deserves someone to make her smile, and even if...even if it is no longer me, I'm still grateful I get to see it again. Besides, as I'm sure you know, she is not subtle." He chuckled softly. "Gosh – even when she first started talking to me again, it was almost always about you."

"Yeah?" Sans couldn't stop the smirk from spreading across his face at that, but maybe it was okay because Asgore was still grinning too, and since they'd already smashed through the awkward barrier from the start of this conversation, maybe he was actually starting to relax. "What'd she say about me?"

"Oh my – excuse me!" As if she knew – which she probably did, somehow, mother's intuition or something – before Asgore had a chance to reply, Toriel had rejoined them, still looking a little flustered with a stray leaf clinging to the fur between her horn and ear. "Well, the dog got away, but we managed to recover...what I believe was once David's lunch. Not to worry, though – we found him some extra chocolate pudding from the cafeteria, which he seemed quite satisfied with. So, what have you boys been talking about?"

"Oh, nothing..." Asgore started.

"You," Sans said at the same time, and they both laughed, exchanging guilty looks as Toriel raised a questioning eyebrow.

"I was just recalling some of our old conversations, Tori," Asgore continued innocently with a teasing twinkle in his eye. "Let's see...'oh, Sans told me the funniest joke yesterday', and 'it was so sweet of Sans to watch Frisk while I was at the PTA meeting', and of course: 'Sans made us a pie, and it was only a _little_ burnt!' I suppose I should be thanking you," he added, shooting Sans a knowing wink, "as, were it not for you, she might still be telling the same old jokes for centuries yet to come."

" _Oh_ , I see." Toriel let out a _hmph_ , planting her hands on her hips in mock irritation, but she was clearly fighting back a smile as she attempted a pout. "I seem to recall you laughing at my old jokes at the time...although I am beginning to suspect you were simply trying to butter me up in the hope of an extra serving of pie."

"Huh, guess she's got a point – can't knock the classics, Fluffybuns," Sans said with a shrug; Toriel started to giggle, and surprisingly enough Asgore joined in, deep, warm, infectious chuckles, more relaxed than he'd sounded all day.

"You mock me now, but just you wait, my friend," he grinned, reaching over and clapping Sans playfully on the back with just enough force not to knock him skull-first into the flowers. "I foresee _many_ new names of a similar caliber in your future...that is, if you have not already had the honour." He looked back at Toriel, smiling with curiosity, amusement and a hint of nostalgia. "Well, Tori?"

"I could not _possibly_ comment," she answered in her prim teacher's voice, but naturally she couldn't resist adding a characteristically unsubtle wink, pressing a finger to her lips before she caught sight of her watch, and her face fell. "Oh goodness – is that the time? I promised you lunch, and it is almost time for class already! I truly am sorry, cu – um, Sans. Are you hungry? Do you want some chocolate pudding to take home, too?"

"Nah, Tori, I'm good." Sans slipped his hand into hers with a reassuring squeeze, grinning sheepishly at her little slip as he felt his cheekbones turning blue with a mix of embarrassment and a weird kind of pleasure that he could never, ever admit to. "I got plenty of food in the cart – probably oughta be moving on, anyway. I'll see you after class, okay?"

"Wonderful." Another silence fell, and Toriel's eyes flickered briefly over to Asgore, still waiting patiently like the elephant in the room. Except they were outside, and he was a goat, and really not such a bad guy; Toriel looked at Sans, widening her eyes imploringly as if to ask _should we_? Sans moved his shoulder a fraction of an inch in response, in the recognised signal for _might be weird and awkward, but yeah, I guess we probably should._

"Hey, Asgore," he said casually, "you wanna come to Grillby's with us later? Pretty sure he'll get the good seats out for royalty."

"A tempting offer," Asgore observed, with a wry but sincere smile, "but...no, I think I will leave you two to it. I have business to attend to. Thank you for the invitation, though – another time, perhaps."

"In that case, you must come round for dinner sometime," Toriel spoke up. "You, Frisk and Papyrus – a feast for all of our noble ambassadors! It would be nice, would it not, a chance for us all to...catch up?" She inclined her head invitingly, and Asgore blinked, his eyes widening in disbelief as though he suspected he was being pranked.

“Really?” After a moment, he regained his composure, breaking out into a wide, equally relieved and delighted grin, as bold and dazzling as the sunshine. "I – yes, of course, that would be...Thank you, Tori. I'd...I'd really like that."

“Then it is a date,” she replied with a smile, and after a moment of hesitation, moved forwards to hug him, one arm circling around his broad shoulders in a brief but friendly squeeze. She was still holding Sans' hand so he was tugged along for the ride; there was an awkward moment when Asgore's eyes inadvertently caught Sans' sockets just as he was hugging Toriel back. Yep, definitely still weird, but Sans just shrugged and grinned and somehow it was okay, as Toriel released Asgore from the hug and he held out his hand. Sans took it, and Asgore's powerful paw clasped around his hand for a firm, rigorous but non-bone-crushing shake. Maybe it'd always be a little weird, with the three of them stood around exchanging tentatively hopeful smiles – but, as Toriel's hand tightened around Sans' for a final, triumphant squeeze just before they parted ways, it felt like they were going to be okay. They were moving on, all of them, and they'd be okay.

At least, Sans had to admit, it sure beat hiding in the bushes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading and feedback is always appreciated! <3


	10. Flustered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Your OTP being flustered. It could be one member, it could be both."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to BraixenBoy17/PineStarShip for helping me out with some ideas for this one!! I imagined this as a kind of sequel-ish to Day Two (Realization), but you don't have to have read that for this to make sense (hopefully!). Also, author is not responsible for any pie cravings you may or may not experience as a result of reading this thing :x lol anyway, I hope you like it and as always I'd love to know your thoughts! <3

 

It was just a _pie_.

Sans had been over to Toriel's a ton of times – with Papyrus, on his own, for dinner, swapping joke books, helping Frisk with homework, whatever. Today wasn't any different; she'd been promising/threatening to teach him how to bake properly pretty much from the moment they met. Just because he might have accidentally developed some...complicated, possibly not 100% platonic feelings about Toriel, it didn't have to change anything. He hadn't screwed everything up _yet_ , and anyway, it was probably just a phase, like that week he let Papyrus convince him that matching backwards baseball caps were a good idea. No big deal. And those couldn't be butterflies in his stomach when he thought about spending the day with her, because he didn't even _have_ a stomach and if there were butterflies, they'd just fly out of his ribcage, so. No butterflies. No reason for anything to bug him – just two good buds, making baked goods. Sans smirked to himself at the unintentional becoming-a-poet-without-being-previously-aware-of-it, mentally filing it away to tell Toriel later as knocked on the door.

"Knock knock," he called through the door as usual.

"Come in! It's open!" came Frisk's cheerful response. Sans let himself in, sighing and shaking his head at them in (mostly) mock disappointment.

"Kid, you're supposed to ask 'who's there?' Kinda irresponsible to leave the door unlocked like that, don't you think? You know, there are some real weird types around here."

"I know, and most of them are our friends," Frisk pointed out, not incorrectly, without looking away from examining themselves in the hallway mirror. "Anyway, it's _obviously_ you because no one else except Mom actually says "knock knock" when they knock." They grinned as they caught Sans' sockets in the mirror and spun around, striking a pose as he took in what they were wearing: an anime-style school blazer and skirt, topped off with a neon pink wig that almost came down to their knees and a matching pair of huge, fluffy cat ears.

"What do you think? Notice anything different?"

Sans cocked his head. "Hmm...nope, not getting it. Help _meow_ -t here?"

Frisk groaned, burying their head in their hands to stifle a giggle. "That was _pawful_. Mom!" they yelled up the stairs. "Sans is here!"

"I will just be a few minutes!" Toriel called back. "Tell him to come in and make himself at home!"

"Come in and make yourself at home!" Frisk told him, enthusiastically if unnecessarily. Something buzzed, and they grabbed their phone from their blazer pocket, glancing down at it with concern. "Oops, I gotta go. Alphys will freak out if we're late to the convention – more than she is already, I mean. Tell Mom I'll be back for dinner! Wait, Sans, come here a sec –" Before he could blink, Frisk pulled off their cat ears and slipped the headband over the top of Sans' skull instead, holding out their phone with a triumphant smile. Sans played along, grinning and throwing up some bunny ears behind their head as the camera clicked.

"I'll send it to Mom later! Save me some pie, okay?" Frisk grabbed their ears back before they disappeared through the door in a pink whirlwind, leaving Sans alone in the hallway. He remembered Toriel had a thing about people moving stuff in the kitchen without her, so he hung back, looking at the pictures framing the walls while he waited. There was Toriel and Frisk smiling outside the school; a surprisingly good portrait of that kid with no arms with Frisk's signature scribbled underneath; a still life of some flowers that looked older, but it was hard to tell because they were yellow anyway. Sans was halfway up the stairs looking at them when he heard Toriel...singing? It was more like a soft hum, indecipherable but tuneful snatches of words, or maybe just noises, floating down the stairs, rising and swooping around a melody as soothingly beautiful as Toriel herself. Sans felt the smile on his face growing as he listened to her, and he found himself following the song the rest of the way up the stairs like the call of a Shyren.

"Tori?" It was coming from behind an old-fashioned wooden door; Sans hadn't been upstairs too many times, but he was _pretty_ sure this was her room. He knocked, and the door creaked open. "Are you in –"

The song cut off in a sharp, startled bleat as Sans poked his head around the door and Toriel whirled around –wisps of fire magic dancing in the shower around her, pure white and very _naked_. She scrambled to cover herself with the shower curtain as Sans slammed the door so fast he barely avoiding taking his own skull off in the process.

"Sorry, Tori, _sorry_! I thought, uh, I mean, I didn't know you were..." The words tumbled out in an incoherent rush as he felt himself blushing so furiously he had to press a hand to his cheekbone to make sure he wasn't _actually_ on fire, eyes still firmly shut even though there was a whole door between them now.

"No, no, Sans, please, it is not your – ah, silly me, I ought to have locked the door!" Toriel let out a shrill, nervous giggle, her voice rising to a pitch more audible to dogs. "I do apologise for keeping you waiting. I will just be a few minutes more, and then we can..."

"No, right, sure, yeah – you take your time, I'll just be, uh...stairs. Down. _Downstairs_." Sans cringed at his own incoherent babbling as he headed back down the stairs – seriously, what was he _doing_? He was supposed to be a lot more chill than this – if he'd walked in on anyone else, he'd just have shrugged it off or thought it was funny. It _was_ funny, sort of, the kind of wacky misunderstanding that happened in those terrible MTT sitcoms Papyrus used to watch all day. Toriel was cool, they'd probably laugh about it later – or just never mention it again, he'd be cool with that too. 

"Hello, Sans!" True to her word, she reappeared barely a minute later, greeting him with a typically warm, though slightly apologetic smile. "Please do excuse the, ah, delay. I thought I had better find some suitable attire for baking." Instead of her royal robes, she was wearing a loose, flowing skirt and her _#1 GOAT MOM_ shirt from Frisk that was maybe a size too small, but she always wore with pride anyway; her cheeks looked just a little pinker than usual, probably from her shower – not that Sans was still thinking about that, or at least he was sure he'd forget in, like, the next five minutes. "Anyway!" she beamed, clapping her hands together excitedly. "I trust you are ready for your..."

"...tu- _Toriel_?" Sans finished with her; he knew it was coming, but somehow it still hadn't gotten old, the way Toriel's eyes sparkled as she brayed with laughter and nodded approvingly.

"Ah, you are learning already!" she teased back, beckoning him into the kitchen with a twist of her head. "Come – take off your jacket, and we can get started. I mean..." Toriel hesitated for a moment as she caught Sans' sockets, a blush colouring her cheeks as she realised her accidental innuendo, "you do not _have_ to take it off, of course, if you would prefer not to! But it will be easier without your clothes – I mean sleeves – in the way." 

"Heh." Sans grinned back at her, trying to shrug off any lingering awkwardness along with his hoodie, as he slung it over the back of a chair. "Sure, Tori, whatever you say – you're the boss."

"Wonderful." With a sweep of her hand, Toriel turned to the immaculately presented countertop, where all the ingredients were already precisely weighed and laid out in preparation. "In that case, let us begin! First we make the shell. Combine the flour, sugar and butter in that bowl, if you would be so kind."

Sans did as he was told, and they soon settled into a rhythm; it was weirdly soothing, pouring and mixing and breaking eggs while Toriel directed him, reading from the recipe and occasionally nodding and murmuring to herself as she studied his technique.

"Mm-hmm, yes, good...ah, I see." She paused, hovering over Sans' shoulder for a moment as he prodded ineffectively at the sticky mass in the bowl that had yet to turn into anything that looked like pastry with a wooden spoon. "May I?"

"Uh, sure...knock yourself out." Maybe it was all the stirring, but he was starting to feel very warm as Toriel leaned over him, removing the spoon before gently taking his hands and guiding them into the bowl, kneading and squeezing the mixture between their interlinked fingers.

"There, do you see?" she murmured, breath warm against the top of his spine as the dough began to form, soft and sticky under their hands. "Like this – it is a little messy, but do not be afraid to be _firm_ with it. Feel your dough. After all, a good pastry is an essential foundation for the perfect pie – the _backbone_ , one might even say!"

"Heh...right." Sans managed a weak chuckle, even though it was pretty difficult to concentrate on the dough with Toriel's body pressed against his back, the gentle vibration of her laughter through his bones; he could feel his cheekbones heating up as her fur inadvertently caressed his bare forearms, electricity like little pinpricks shooting all the way up his arms and straight to his soul. He wasn't even sure whether to be more relieved or disappointed when Toriel moved away, appraising their handiwork with a satisfied nod. 

"Much better! Now you can roll it out."

Sans scooped up the ball of dough, squishing it experimentally a few times before he laid it out on the countertop and picked up the rolling pin. He attempted to flatten it out, but the dough clung stubbornly first to his hands and then to the rolling pin, making it pretty much impossible to roll it into anything resembling pie-shape. 

"Ah, you may want to use some more flour for this part," Toriel offered, after a few moments watching him wrestle with the dough with her head cocked curiously to one side. "To stop it growing so...attached to you." She smiled and winked when Sans caught her eye, reaching for the flour bag. "Allow me..."

She sprinkled a generous helping of flour over the dough, dusting the countertop, the rolling pin and a little on the top of Sans' skull too, but he was more than okay with it as he flashed her a grateful smile in return. "Hey, you're right - that's a lot better. Thanks, Tori."

"You are most welcome, Sans – that is what I am here for!" She beamed like a proud teacher – which he supposed she was – as he rolled out the dough again and this time it actually stayed in place, enough for Sans to lift it carefully into the pie tin. He glanced back at Toriel for confirmation, who nodded encouragingly, so he started evening it out, pressing the dough with the tip of the rolling pin and his fingers - messily but firmly - as far into the crimped edges as it would go, like the recipe said. Toriel was quiet for a few moments, giving him space to work until Sans stepped back to take a look and she leaned in expectantly.

"Does that look okay to you?" 

"Wonderful!" Toriel clasped her hands together, her eyes lighting up with delight as she looked over his shoulder. "That looks to me like a fine dough indeed. I do believe it is ready for the oven – would you like to do the honours?"

"Don't mind if I dough." It wasn't his best joke, but Toriel still giggled as she made a show of opening the oven door for him; Sans had to admit he never expected to get this excited about pastry, but her enthusiasm was infectious and he could feel himself grinning too, weirdly honoured as he slid the pie carefully into the oven.

"Usually, I would add a touch of fire magic at this point," Toriel added as they closed the door together. "But sometimes it is nice to do things the traditional way, is it not?"

"Sure, traditional is good." Sans agreed as he glanced up from the oven and into her eyes; there was a smudge of flour across her nose, and it made him smile. "Hey, Tori – you, uh, you got something there..."

"Hmm?" Toriel blinked, her crimson eyes widening as Sans reached up, edging forwards onto his tiptoes just a little. She lowered her head to meet him, and the slightest hint of pink seemed to bloom across her now extra-white cheeks as Sans gently brushed his thumb across her nose, making her scrunch it up in an almost unfairly adorable way that made him want to do it again, and again.

"Got it."

"Oh! I see. Thank you." Toriel straightened up, but there was a mischievous edge to her smile, a sudden glint in her eye that was somehow simultaneously alarming and exciting (alarmingly exciting?) – and then she reached out and patted the top of his head, deliberately dusting off the flour and dough debris on her hands. "How rude of me. I suppose I ought to share?"

" _Oh_ – okay, you wanna go?" Sans asked, any attempt at sounding tough probably undermined by the fact that he was laughing too as he shook the sticky flakes of dough from his skull. "Fine, if that's how it is – but I gotta warn ya, Tori, you might be about to have a -"

A blizzard of flour hit Sans right between the sockets before he could finish, and then it was _on,_ both of them shrieking and snorting with laughter as they hurled any and all available foodstuffs across the kitchen at each other like they were Frisk's age. Toriel wielded her flour bag like some kind of snow queen, casting merciless flurries into the air and coating everything in her path, while Sans grabbed whatever he could to defend himself – sugar, cinnamon, the sticky globs of dough still clinging to his hands – until they ended up in a kind of standoff, backed against the counter. Sans was pretty sure he'd got her with a conveniently placed tub of cocoa when she dropped the flour and hurriedly bent down to pick it up – but she somehow slipped past with ninja-fast reflexes before he could touch her, neatly reversing their positions as she caught both of his hands in one of hers, not roughly enough to hurt but effortlessly rendering him helpless as she pinned him back against the counter.

"Oh my – I am _sorry_ ," she crowed, a blatant lie going by the triumphant smirk playing on her lips as she dangled the flour bag threateningly just above Sans' head with her other hand, "but what was that you were saying about a bad time...?"

"Okay, okay..." Sans knew she wouldn't actually dump the whole thing on him – even if she was that cruel, it'd be a terrible waste – but he squirmed ineffectively in her grip anyway, because damn, she was _strong_. She could probably snap him in half if she wanted to, and that...probably shouldn't have been stirring up as many feelings as it was when he caught Toriel's eye, both of them flushed, laughing and panting, "you win, I surrender, uncle. I'll do anything you say – just, please, no more flour."

“Hmm, I thought so.” Toriel released him, smoothing down her skirt and trying to sound stern, but she still had a twinkle in her eye as she glanced around at the state of her kitchen. “Very well, enough of this – we still have a pie to complete, do we not? The work has barely begun!”

She wasn't kidding about that, as they spent the rest of the afternoon dashing between pots of ominously bubbling cream and caramel, pouring and stirring and whisking frantically under Toriel's guidance: "Hmm, that looks a little lumpy. Try raising the heat – not _too_ much, it will burn! Ah, perhaps leave this to me, you can start mixing the eggs over there...you do not think it is supposed to look like that? Well, try tasting it – with a _spoon_ , Sans. You did remember to separate all the yolks, yes? What is that on the floor...?"

But despite being dangerously close to hard work, when Sans pulled out the pie wearing Toriel's way-too-big oven gloves, it was worth it. Because even the delicious aroma of butterscotch wafting temptingly through the room couldn't compete with the way Toriel's face lit up as he revealed their masterpiece, her fangs gleaming as she broke into a wide, dazzling smile.

"Oh my goodness, it looks perfect! Such a lovely colour – a little burn is fine, it adds character – and a very nice rise. And that _smell_! Mmm, I can hardly wait to taste it!" Toriel licked her lips as she threw an arm around Sans' shoulders, pulling him into a celebratory hug. "Well done, Sans! Truly, I am impressed with your progress."

"Heh...thanks, Tori." He grinned up at her, flushing a little with pride despite the automatic instinct to shrug off the compliment. "It's not bad, huh? I mean, you helped a lot, but –"

"Oh, nonsense – do not be modest," she interrupted, fondly but firmly, giving him a playful squeeze before they separated and she moved onto collecting the various pots and bowls scattered across the countertop. "You should be proud of yourself. I must admit," she continued, piling them into the sink, "when Papyrus told me about your...first attempt at baking, I was surprised. I did recall you asking for the recipe, but somehow, I did not expect you to be interested in this type of thing."

"You mean the infamous sweet quiche?" Sans met her eyes with a wry smile as he joined her, picking up a few spoons and dropping them into the sink. “Yeah, I know –guess I was finally ready for a change from Grillby's every night. That and, well, Paps always cooks for us, even if it isn't the most...edible – but he tries, y'know? Always has. So I guess I thought maybe it was time to start pulling my weight, too. Make us something nice every once in a while.”

“How sweet.” Toriel glanced over at him, smiling with big, soft eyes that made him a little weak at the patellas. “Well, you have certainly made _us_ something nice, and I do not doubt there will be many more where that came from – if you wish to continue learning, of course. But, for now...” She paused, quickly drying her hands on a tea towel while casting a hopeful look back at the pie. “I would say you have earned a little break, have you not?”

“You saw right through me, Tori.” Sans pulled up a chair, grinning as Toriel eagerly placed two plates on the table and went to bring the pie over – because yeah, of course he wanted to make something nice for Papyrus, But maybe he'd also kind of always wanted to make Toriel proud of him, even back in Snowdin when she was just a mysterious voice behind a door. He wanted to tell her he'd tried her recipe, just to hear what she'd say; back then, obviously, he never thought he'd get to bake it _with_ her, and that it'd be better than anything he imagined, watching Toriel cut the pie into near-perfect triangles with as much care and precision as she took over everything as he sat with his jaw resting on his hand and a warm, fuzzy feeling growing in his soul, so sweet and strong he had to glance down to make sure it wasn't actually glowing through his t-shirt just before Toriel looked up and caught his sockets.

"What are you smiling at?" she asked, raising a suspicious eyebrow but smiling too as she slid a generous portion onto both of their plates.

Sans resisted the temptation to point out that technically he was always smiling, even if he was pretty sure he hadn't actually smiled like this in a long time. "Just the, uh...the pie. It's a great pie. Great lesson, Tori. I really feel like I've learned a lot.”

“If you say so.” Toriel let out a soft chuckle, a little bemused but fond as she dug into the pie. She was so perfect, closing her eyes and sighing in bliss as she took her first bite, and Sans couldn't have wiped the grin from his face if he'd tried, as a heavenly chorus of butterscotch and cinnamon melted in his mouth and he knew for sure – if he didn't already – that he was so, so boned.

But he didn't even care any more, because this – this was so, _so_ worth it.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading and feedback is always appreciated! <3


	11. Rest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Your OTP resting and/or sleeping together. They could be sleeping anywhere from at home in bed to out on a park bench."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It liiives! So I kinda wrote something similar to this prompt already, in my “come and lay your bones down with me” ficlet, so this is an idea I had floating around in my head for a while but never found its way into a fic...hopefully it works, and isn't too similar! Any thoughts you may wish to share with me are love, and indeed life.
> 
> ALSO – apologies to anyone who knows me bc I literally haven't stopped spamming everyone with this lmao – but we now have [ART!!](http://pre03.deviantart.net/3b1f/th/pre/i/2017/108/f/e/first_date_by_poisondilu-db6amhe.png) a commission for me by the amazing [poisondilu](http://poisondilu.deviantart.com/) , based off a scene from Day Four (First Date)! If you haven't already go check it out and send her allll the love bc her Soriel stuff is just perfection *^* <333

For as long as she can remember, Toriel has always had some difficulty drifting off to sleep.

As a child, she could never settle in the dark, fearful of all the terrible creatures she imagined there, waiting to reach out and grab her the moment the lights went out. She still remembers how she would refuse to close her eyes for even a second until she was cradled in her mother's arms, warm and safe as she rocked her gently back and forth to sleep.

As Toriel grew older – and even more so when she became a mother herself – she came to realise that the real danger was not hiding in her closet or under her bed, but outside; the darkness in the souls of the surface that had taken her mother and her father in the war, that filtered through to the hatred and mistrust in the Underground to this day and that she swore she would protect her own children from, no matter what the cost. Even if she still could not fully relax until she had crept out of their bed, late at night after Asgore had fallen asleep, and into the children's rooms, feeling the same rush of relief and gratitude every time when she peeked through the door to see them sleeping soundly. It reminded her of the very first time she held Asriel in her arms and he looked up at her – huge, ruby eyes, wide and curious and vulnerable within an impossibly tiny tuft of fluff. Toriel would never forget the moment for as long as she lived, the fierce wave of love and tenderness so powerful she felt her soul would burst, so much stronger than anything she ever imagined it was possible to feel, and she wanted nothing more than to hold him tightly to her breast, safe from all the pain and sorrow and sharp edges of the outside world, and never, ever let go. 

Decades later, as she lay awake and alone in the Ruins, she could still picture those eyes through the dark, and some nights she came close to convincing herself that perhaps, if she only wanted it badly enough, she would wake up and he would be there. It would all have been a dream and they would _all_ be there, her family, her world returned to her, instead of facing another day of her current, wretched, pitiful existence.

So much has happened since then; Toriel has seen things she never thought possible, has found what she never dared to dream she could have again – a new life, a new family, here on the surface – and yet, come nightfall, she remains restless. She has always had an active mind, always thinking, planning, worrying about the day ahead: what she is going to make for breakfast, tomorrow's lesson plan, that hole in Frisk's sweater that needs mending...Before she knows it, morning has come again and she must ready herself for another day, masking her yawns behind a generous mug of golden flower tea and a sunny smile as she urges Frisk to finish their breakfast, or they will be both be late for school.

And now, of course, she has Sans – who has quite the opposite problem, for Toriel can barely leave him for five minutes without him dozing off. At first, she was a little worried that he might be ill, but Papyrus assured her that this was perfectly normal, that he had always been a lazybones in every sense of the phrase. Sans himself was apologetic about it, as though she might be offended, and always tells her to wake him up, but Toriel can rarely bring herself to do so. In truth, she rather enjoys watching him; he looks so peaceful, so content, with his eyes closed and his resting smile soft at the edges, oblivious to the world in a way she still cannot help but marvel at. Even here, in the middle of the afternoon with the sun shining down on them, sitting on a park bench while Frisk explores the adventure playground, "chaperoned" by Papyrus, Undyne and Alphys. Sans twitches, and Toriel smiles down at him as she wonders if he is dreaming, and if so what about –

"Tori," Sans says suddenly, making her jump without opening his eyes or moving an inch. "Quit staring at me."

"I was not _staring_ ," Toriel protests unconvincingly, wondering how he always _knows_. "I was simply...observing my surroundings, of which you happen to be a part. Besides, I thought you were  asleep."

"I was." Sans yawns and stretches, popping his spine as he slowly opens one eye to look at her in a kind of reverse wink. "'Til you distracted me."

"Oh, did I? I am sorry." Toriel tries to sound remorseful, but cannot stop the smile from spreading across her face as she scoots closer to him on the bench, nuzzling into his neck. "I'm afraid I cannot help myself, if you will insist on looking so cute when you are sleeping."

"'m not cute," Sans mumbles sleepily (and falsely), while making absolutely no attempt to resist the kiss she plants on his cheekbone as she feels him grin against her lips. "I'm terrifying. All the kids at school think so."

"Hmm...yes." She does wish he wouldn't sound _quite_ so proud of that sometimes. "Well, one can hardly blame them for not anticipating the sudden appearance of a skeleton at the window during what is _supposed_ to be nap time..."

Sans chuckles, low and warm as he leans against her shoulder. "Come on, Tori, that was funny. And you know I _never_ miss nap time."

"It is _always_ nap time with you," she teases him gently, smiling as they fall into a companionable silence, simply enjoying each other's company and the beautiful weather. The pleasant chirrups of the birds in the trees surrounding them are disrupted only by the occasional yells of "sand-wrestling!" from the playground, until Toriel finds herself wondering aloud: "How do you do it?"

Sans lifts his skull to look at her, raising a questioning brow bone. "Huh? Do what?"

"I mean, sleep...quite so often. Not that it bothers me in the slightest," she reassures him hurriedly, "you know that. I am just curious. I do not think I could nap in the middle of the day, though I must admit sometimes the idea is...tempting." Toriel thinks for a moment, before adding, hopefully: "Perhaps you could show me?"

Sans cocks his head to one side, smirking a little. "You want me to show you how to...go to sleep?"

Well, when he puts it like _that_ , of course it sounds silly. "If you are going to laugh at me..."

"No, wait, I'm not laughing," he protests as Toriel starts to get up from the bench, catching hold of her hand although she has no intention of actually leaving. "I mean – sure, we can give it a shot. Sleeping _is_ pretty much my second favourite thing to do, so I guess I'm qualified..."

"What is your favourite – _oh_." Toriel blushes deeply at the realisation dawns, elbowing Sans lightly in the ribs as the heat rushes to her cheeks. "Sans, there are _children_ present!" She doubts Frisk could hear them at this distance, and certainly not swinging from the monkey bars while Papyrus waits anxiously with his arms outstretched in case they should fall, but that is hardly the point. 

"I didn't say _anything_ ," Sans says with a shrug, but the gleam in his sockets betrays him as he raises his hands faux-innocently in a poor attempt to disguise his grin. "Okay, uh...moving on – first lesson. You gotta relax. Get as comfortable as you can be." He links their fingers together, guiding her arm comfortably around his shoulders before resting his head against the crook of her neck, as if to demonstrate. "See?"

"I see." Toriel lets her head fall to one side, her cheek resting against Sans' skull. "How is this?"

"Yeah, that's good." He is already starting to sound sleepy again. "Now close your eyes, and just...try not to think, or move. And that's pretty much all I can teach you. Just gotta –" Sans lets out a yawn mid-sentence, snuggling a little further into Toriel's neck as though she is his personal pillow, "let it happen, y'know?"

"Very well, then. I will try." Toriel closes her eyes and attempts to clear her mind, focusing on the steady rise and fall of Sans' ribcage against her side. It is certainly pleasant, for a good few minutes. Relaxing, now that she is not thinking...or does thinking that she is not thinking count as thinking? But surely, then it is impossible not to think of _anything_. The sun is warm on her fur – oh, did Frisk remember to apply sunscreen? Toriel can hear them from the playground, and she is _fairly_ certain those are shrieks of joy and not pain, but Undyne does sometimes play a little rougher than she would like, although Frisk always insists they are fine. If she opens her eyes to check, will she have to start over? Now her nose is starting to itch. If she _does_ fall asleep now, what if something happens? That is not a relaxing thought at all.

"Hmm, I am not sure this is working," Toriel murmurs reluctantly after a few minutes. "How long does it normally take, Sans?" There is no response, and she opens her eyes. "Sans?"

He is fast asleep, snoring softly against her shoulder. Toriel sighs, but she cannot claim to be surprised, lifting her head as carefully as possible so as not to wake him. She glances over towards the playground, where Frisk is balanced precariously on Papyrus' shoulders as Undyne has both of them trapped in a headlock – until Frisk manages to wriggle free, grabbing her legs and bringing them all crashing to the ground in a messy heap, but Toriel is reassured that no one is hurt by the fact that they are all laughing just as hard as Alphys, who is filming the whole spectacle on her phone. 

Toriel cannot help but chuckle softly to herself too as she watches, shaking her head fondly at them all before she reaches into her handbag for _1000 (More) Snail-y Fun Snail Facts_ and settles in, relaxing back against the bench and Sans.

She may not be falling asleep any time soon, but from here, at least, Toriel can certainly appreciate the view. 

  
  


* * *

 

  
  


As much as Toriel adores Sans, she must admit that sharing a bed with him is something of an... _adjustment_.

There ought to be more than enough room in her bed for the two of them, as Sans should take up a fraction of the space that Asgore once did – but he has an almost impressive ability to claim as much space as possible, sprawled across the bed with his arms and legs flung out every which way. He also has a habit of rolling around in his sleep and cocooning himself in the duvet, leaving Toriel with hardly any for herself. The first few times, she tells herself not to be petty; after all, Sans does not have any flesh or fur to keep him warm, as she does, so she can surely make do with a little less every once in a while. This goodwill lasts for perhaps a week before she simply has to start yanking her share of the covers unceremoniously back from Sans' sleeping form; he very rarely stirs during this process, so she supposes it is a decent compromise.

Toriel would not have it any other way, of course; the joy of having someone to hold again, to snuggle close to in the night and to wake up beside each morning, more than makes up for any little grievances. She knows, deep down, that the reason she still tosses and turns, the hours she lies staring at the ceiling and the way her stomach jumps when a shadow crosses the room, even though she _knows_ it is only their conveniently-shaped lamp – none of it has anything to do with Sans, no matter how loudly he snores or how cold and bony his feet are when he presses them against her legs.

The truth, Toriel knows as she rolls over yet again, is that she cannot blame Sans for another long night any more than she can blame him for the ones that preceded it – or, indeed, for the many she suspects will follow it, for as long as there are still shadows lurking in the far reaches of her mind, memories waiting to play out before her eyes each time she closes them.

But Toriel is no longer a child – and has not been for a long, long time – so she must bear her burden alone, stifle a frustrated sigh into her pillow, and continue to hope that perhaps, this night, she will find respite in sleep.

  
  


* * *

 

Toriel wakes with a start to find herself lying in a bed of buttercups; there must be hundreds and hundreds of them, clinging stubbornly to her fur until she blows them from her nose with a strong exhale. She is...back in the Ruins? But she does not remember there ever being _this_ many flowers – it is dark, too dark to take in her surroundings as she rises to her feet, stray flowers falling from her clothes. Then, somewhere in the distance, she hears the creak of an ancient, wooden door, bringing forth a chink of light – just enough for Toriel to see, a long, unfamiliar path now illuminated ahead of her. Her heart leaps with relief at the sound of footsteps, followed by a small, familiar silhouette.

"Frisk?" she calls out, squinting into the light. "Is that –" The words are stolen from Toriel's mouth as they step out of the shadows, revealing an entirely different, equally familiar face – one she never dreamed she would see again, her mouth falling helplessly open as shock grips through to her soul.

"Ch-Chara?!" It cannot be – but it _is_ them, in the flesh, wearing the very same sweater she knitted for them all those decades ago – and smiling. "But how...You are –"

"Dead?" Chara finishes for her, their voice sharp and clear. "Yeah, I thought so too, for a long time. It's funny how people can surprise you like that, huh, Mom?"

"I cannot believe – this – this is..." _Wonderful_ , Toriel means to say – but she cannot quite form the word. Chara's eyes are too bright, their smile too wide, and she knows instinctively that something is _wrong_ , even before her eyes fall upon the knife clutched in their small hand. "Chara – what are you doing with that? Put it down at once before you hurt yourself!"

"Hurt _myself_?" Chara laughs, but it is nothing like the one she remembers, a throaty, sinister gurgle that makes her stomach churn. "A little late for that, don't you think, Mom? What more can anyone do to me? They already took my soul, my body, my best friend..." The edge of the blade glints in the light as they take a slow, deliberate step towards her. " _I'm_ not the one with anything left to lose here."

"Chara..." Toriel tries to stand firm despite the tremble in her voice as they advance towards her, and she holds out her hand as she looks into their eyes, pleading, searching for any trace of the child she knew under the bright, fierce determination burning there. "My child, I understand if you are angry – but, please, come home with me. We can talk about this, about everything..."

" _Home?_ " Their voice rings out through the empty corridor, loud and accusing. "Boy, and I thought Dad was the dumb one. You still don't get it, do you – we don't _have_ a home. Not any more – not without him. Maybe you should've thought of that before, Mom. Maybe if you'd only done a better job of taking care of us, we'd all still be here. Maybe we wouldn't have –"

"No..." It comes out as a whimper, tears of guilt and shame filling Toriel's eyes as she presses her hands over her ears like a child, but she cannot escape the truth in their words. "Chara, I – please, you must know that I only _ever_ wanted to protect you, both of you, all of us. I never imagined that you would – I tried so hard to..."

"Oh, you _tried_!" Their response is scornful, mocking, every word twisting into her soul sharper than any blade ever could. "I know you tried, Mom – you tried to replace us, didn't you? _Six_ times, wasn't it? Six times, you failed. Six more, gone because of you. How's that feel, Mom? Now that _everyone_ knows what a great mom you were – gosh, could it be that maybe _you_ were the one we needed protecting from all along?"

"Chara, please – _please_ , do not do this." Toriel stumbles backwards as Chara moves towards, knife in hand, tripping over her words and her feet as blind panic takes hold – but her back hits cold, slippery stone, and there is nowhere to run, nowhere to hide from the terrible truth. "I know this is not you. Whatever has happened to you, we still have a chance to make things right. Please, just – just let me try..."

"Sorry, Mom – you've tried enough." Toriel can only look on in horror as Chara's face starts to...to _melt_ before her eyes, their eyes and mouth bleeding together into an unrecognisable, grotesque parody of a smile. "It's my turn to make the rules now, and I say it's time for _you_ to go home. That's what you wanted, isn't it? For us all to be together again?" They start to laugh again, the horrible sound echoing off the walls as they raise their knife. "Welcome home, Mom."

"Chara, no! Please, do not –" As the distance between them closes, Toriel reaches desperately for magic to shield herself – but nothing comes, her hands grasping at cold air as Chara looms over her, somehow growing bigger as their laughter swirls around her, deafening, sickening, inescapable. "Please, Chara! _Chara!_ "

"Tori!" Another voice cuts through; a hand reaches out through the darkness, grabbing her shoulder. Toriel instinctively pulls away, but loses her balance, her feet slipping from underneath her as she falls headfirst into the flowers, towards Chara's knife – but lands instead on a soft, springy surface, finding herself scrabbling frantically against flimsy sheets instead of hard stone. "Tori, wake up, you're dreaming!"

Toriel knows that voice, that hand on her shoulder – but she can still _see_ them, the remnants of that twisted face fading into the shadows, but taunting her, _waiting_. "Chara..."

"Tori, it's okay – there's no one here, it's just me – it's Sans." Toriel blinks, turning away from the darkness towards the familiar, soft blue light – Sans, _her_ Sans, his expression twisting in worry as his hands slide from her shoulders to gently cup her face. "You...remember me, right?"

Toriel cannot summon the energy for a coherent response; she simply falls into his arms, clutching at him like he is her lifeblood, her oxygen. "Sans," she repeats, her heart still pounding as her soul swells with relief and gratitude, and then again, " _Sans_. Chara – I saw them – they were going to..."

"Sssh, baby, it's okay, I got you," he murmurs into her ear, holding onto her just as tightly, stroking her back even though she is probably crushing him. "They're gone now, it was just a dream, you're safe. Everything's okay..."

"No," Toriel insists, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks as Chara's words come back to her, shaking her head as their accusing voice rings in her ears, "it is not okay. It was my fault, Sans. All of it."

"No, it wasn't your –"

"How can _you_ know that?" It comes out sharper than she intended, and guilt pierces her chest like a shard of glass as she draws back to glimpse Sans' wide, concerned sockets – she knows it is unfair to snap at him, and this is the last thing she ever wanted, to drag him down with her into the thorny reaches of her past, centuries of secrets and shame and regret. "You were not there. You did not see how many times I failed, all the things I should have –" 

"Tori – _Tori_ ," Sans interrupts her, calm but firm as he takes hold of her shaking hands, thumbs stroking the fur on her knuckles, "you wanna know how I know? 'Cause I know _you_ , and I know how much you love your kids. I see you every day with Frisk, what an incredible mom you are, how much effort and love and care you put into every little thing. You'd do anything for them – just like you did everything you could to save those kids, every last one of 'em. Sometimes, there's just things – people – that you can't..." He trails off, thoughts unfinished in the air until he dismisses them with a shake of his skull. "The point is – none of what happened back there was your fault, okay, Tori? _None_ of it."

Toriel does not know if she can ever fully, sincerely believe that, but it still comforts her a little to hear Sans state it with such conviction, his words enveloping her like a warm blanket as he squeezes her hands. She manages a tentative nod, letting her head fall to rest their foreheads together as she lets out a great, shaky breath, somewhere between a sigh and a sob, and lets him pull her gently back into bed, curling up and resting her head on Sans' sternum as he holds her.

"Tori, Chara's...gone," he continues quietly. "I know you miss them, and I know it still hurts, but it's just us now – you and me and Frisk and Papyrus and all the others, and we're not going anywhere. We're...we're all family now, and we're in this together. It's gonna be okay. We're here on the surface, we're _free_ , and everything's gonna be fine, okay, baby?"

Toriel does not recall Sans ever calling her _baby_ before; it feels a little strange, as she is centuries older than him, and yet somehow it is also just what she needs, his soothing monotone reassuring her that it's okay, it's all over now, he's got her, his bony fingers stroking tenderly through her fur and petting her ears until she feels her eyelids growing heavy once again, finally too exhausted to fret about what she might see when she closes them.

She cannot be sure which of them falls asleep first, but the next time she opens her eyes light is filtering through the window, the sun peeking out over the hilltops into the beginnings of a new day. Sans has rolled over onto his front, mouth half-open and drooling a little onto the pillow, but he stirs when Toriel moves. Mumbling something unintelligible, he reaches out and wraps his arm around hers, clinging to her as he nestles closer, as though he knows her even in his sleep.

Toriel smiles, snuggles closer to him, and falls into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading and feedback is always appreciated! <3


	12. Shopping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Your OTP shopping together. What are they shopping for? Are they just running errands, or are they buying gifts for each other?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this, I believe, is what was once – maybe still is? – known as “curtainfic”. Except with fewer curtains and more terrible food jokes. Thanks again to BraixenBoy17/PineStarShip for listening to me complain about how hard it is to make shopping vaguely interesting as well as providing the, um, inspiring ending :P as always, I'd love to hear how you guys thought I did!! c:

  
  


In all her years, Toriel had never seen anything quite like it. Rows upon rows of shelves, filled to the brim with unfamiliar items with the strangest names. It was a far cry from the cosy, traditional shops with their lovingly home-made goods she preferred to purchase from in the Underground; even at the most extravagant royal banquets, she could never recall seeing _this_ much food all in one place. Just looking at the swarms of monsters and humans pushing and grabbing their way through the aisles, Toriel already felt quite exhausted – but that did not matter, for she had promised her child a party, and they were going to have _all_ the peculiar human foods their little heart desired. Fortunately, however, she would not be navigating such uncharted territory alone.

"Sans," Toriel said, her hands tightening around the handle of their (as of yet) empty cart as she turned to him with a look of steely resolve, "read me the list, if you please."

"The _whole_ list?" Sans did not sound any more enthusiastic than she did – although that was not unusual – about the prospect, but he obediently pulled the crumpled piece of paper from his pocket, trailing almost all the way to the floor, and began to read: "Cheese, milk, eggs, cupcakes, cotton candy, party hats..."

"Thank you – that will be enough for now." Toriel held up a hand to silence him – a habit from school she could not quite shake – as she scanned the aisles. "Very well, let us start with cheese!" That sounded simple enough – they had had plenty of cheese in the Underground, after all. "Now...can you see any cheese...?"

"One sec." Without warning, Sans hopped up onto the front of the cart for extra height, and Toriel grabbed onto the handle before the whole thing capsized as he looked around, then pointed to a sign hanging a few aisles away from them. "Looks like cheese over there. Full steam ahead, Tori."

Toriel sighed, exasperation mingling with affection, but she allowed him to remain hanging onto the front of the cart as she steered them towards what she now recognised as the dairy aisle. There was indeed an impressive variety of cheese, not to mention all the milk, butter, cream, yoghurts...

"Well, there is certainly no shortage of cheese," she observed, glancing over them all – great blocks of cheese, grated, cream, somewhat dubious-looking cheese in a tube...even 'goat's cheese', which brought several questions to mind. "But which kind do you think is most suitable for a party?" 

"It says here Frisk wants...'cheese on sticks, with pineapple'." That was not tremendously helpful, as none of the cheese appeared to be served on a stick, but Sans grinned, a familiar gleam in his sockets as he caught Toriel's eye. "Hey, Tori."

"Yes?" 

"What kind of cheese do you use to hide a horse?"

"Hide a _horse_?" Toriel blinked, shaking her head in bemusement. "I do not – is that some sort of party game...?"

"Nope. You gotta use..." He took a tub of creamy cheese from the shelf and held it up in front of her, " _marscapone_."

"Oh!" It took her a moment, but Toriel let out a braying snort of laughter, some of the tension in her body beginning to evaporate. "Mask a _pony_! That is perfect – put it in the cart. I am sure the children could dip their pineapple in it, if they wish." Sans tossed it in, just as inspiration struck: "Oh, I know one! Sans, what do you call cheese that does not belong to you?"

"Is it 'RESERVED FOR USE IN THE GREAT PAPYRUS' GREAT CULINARY CREATIONS! DO NOT EAT! ESPECIALLY IF YOU ARE A SMALL DOG OR SANS! YES, BROTHER, I AM IMPLICATING YOU IN THE TRAGIC YET INEVITABLE FUTURE DISAPPEARANCE OF THIS CHEESE!'?"

"No! Or, well – perhaps, but that is not the answer I was thinking of," Toriel giggled, clasping her hands together in appreciation of Sans' attempt at his beloved brother's impassioned rattle. "Because it is... _nacho_ cheese!"

Sans snorted and pointed double finger-guns at her in approval. "That...was super cheesy."

"Myself, I thought it was rather _Brie_ -lliant." Toriel winked back at him, and once they started to laugh neither of them could stop, despite – or perhaps further fuelled by – the alarmed glance they received from a lady across the aisle. She could happily have continued in a similar vein forever, or at least until they ran out of cheese jokes, but there was still much to be done in preparation for the party tomorrow, so Toriel attempted to compose herself before taking charge again. "Okay, we have cheese – what is next?"

"Chips."

"Ah, chisps, I am sure we can find –"

"No, _chips_."

Toriel frowned. "That is what I just said. Popato chisps."

"No, Tori – it says _potato chips_."

" _What_? Let me see that." Toriel plucked the list out of Sans' hands – if he was playing a prank on her, it was not very funny, but upon investigation Frisk had indeed specified _chips_ , no 's'. "Well, how very strange. I wonder what the difference is? In any case," she added, trying to remain optimistic, "it is fascinating, is it not, how much we are learning about the unique wares of the surface?"

It was almost like one of Papyrus' puzzles, the two of them making their way through the aisles in search of all manner of party foods – some of which was familiar, some not, and almost all of it of dubious nutritional value. Cupcakes adorned with smiley faces, brightly coloured sodas, brownies, jelly, ice cream (just the regular kind – or, as Sans dubbed them, 'Not Nice Creams', which sent them off on a tangent thinking up the most amusing insults one could print on the stick as an alternative; Toriel had overheard some particularly creative ones at school, although she would never dream of repeating them under normal circumstances)...She may have gone off-list, but Toriel also insisted on picking up some nutritious brown bread and cucumber slices for sandwiches, as she felt it was probably sensible to have _something_ on the table that was not loaded with sugar.

"Oh, Sans, look at these!" She held up a charming little selection platter of miniature pizzas. "Aren't they adorable?"

"Tori, they're pizzas, not puppies," Sans replied, smirking as he levitated a stack of mozzarella sticks into the cart with a flick of his wrist.

"I am aware of that – but they are perfect, are they not? I am certain Frisk will love them." Toriel smiled, already picturing her child's excited little face. "And they are so versatile! We could make a game of it – I could throw them, and you could try to catch them in your mouth!"

"Heh – really?" Sans glanced back over his shoulder, his grin somewhere between fond, amused and just a touch concerned as he caught her eye. "Sounds...messy, not to mention potentially dangerous." It was not long, however, before the mischievous twinkle was back. "I'm in."

"I knew you would not be able to resist a _pizza_ the action." Toriel began piling pizza boxes into the cart with glee, starting out with two, but Frisk had a lot of friends and she did not want any child to go hungry, so they would need extra, and then extra extra just in case the extra ran out...the pile was wobbling a little, but it was better to be safe than hungry. "What is next?" She had lost sight of Sans over the pizzas, but her brow creased in concern when she peered around them and he was _still_ nowhere to be found. "Sans...?"

"Over here, Tori – next aisle to your left," came Sans' disembodied voice, evidently having teleported when she was not looking; Toriel might almost have suspected he was trying to wriggle out of shopping duties, had she not known better, before rounding the corner to find him contemplating shelves full of ketchup. 

"Ah, do they have the kind you like?" Toriel could not help but smile as she pushed the cart over to join him, for she would never have described Sans as a picky eater, or particularly picky about anything, but he was studying the back of the ketchup bottle as intently as if he were to be taking an exam on it.

"The surface stuff's all pretty much the same," he answered. "I mean, it's okay, but it's got nothing on Grillby's." He put the bottle back on the shelf, a wistful, almost longing expression passing over his face. "Grillbz won't tell anyone how he makes it, though – trust me, I've tried. But you know that guy...keeps it all bottled up."

"Indeed." Toriel let out a sympathetic chuckle as she picked up a bottle for herself – usually, she much preferred her meals home-cooked, but even she had to admit there was just something about the food at Grillby's, greasily guilty yet sinfully satisfying. Reading the ingredients to this concoction, however, she was unimpressed; it appeared to consist mostly of water, sugar and artificial colourings that would probably turn one's insides – or lack thereof – bright red. "Do you know what, Sans?"

He smiled at her, most likely anticipating another joke. "What, Tori?"

"I am going to make you some ketchup myself," she declared with a decisive nod. "With _real_ tomatoes! And only the very finest ingredients the surface has to offer!"

"What – seriously?" Sans' sockets lit up, before he predictably attempted to downplay his enthusiasm with a shrug. "Come on, Tori, you know you don't have to go to all that trouble for me. I'll eat anything, it's no big –"

"Do not be silly – it is no trouble, and _you_ know how much I enjoy cooking new things. Besides, I do not want you eating just _anything_." Toriel sidled a little closer to him, batting her eyelashes beguilingly as she slipped her arm around his shoulders, stroking her thumb along the upper ridges of his spine. "You will need to keep your strength up when you are helping me keep a socket on all those children, will you not?"

 "Oh, I see what you're doing here." Sans folded his arms in a somewhat futile attempt to appear offended. "Think you can pay me off with food, huh, Tori? Well, you're...totally right. Damn it." Judging from the grin now stretching from cheekbone to cheekbone as she felt him melting into her touch, however, Toriel suspected he was not too upset about this undeniable truth.

"I am afraid you are simply too easy to see through, my dear," she replied, just a hint of smugness in her smile – of course, she would have made it for him anyway, but a little extra incentive never hurt. "And, hmm – if it goes well, perhaps I will open up a restaurant of my own! We could serve pie and hot dogs, and I could call it...Tori's."

"Now you're talking." Sans' brow bone lifted in interest. "Although – you trying to put Grillbz out of business? That's pretty cold." He looked up at the precariously balanced array of goods stacked in the cart. "Anyway, we done here? 'Cause that's one very, uh... _leaning_ tower of pizza."

Toriel reached once again for the list, her eyes skimming over hurriedly. "Yes, I believe we are just about – oh, one last thing. We need some more snails."

"Party snails...?"

"Well, why not – they are full of nutrients! And we can arrange the shells into patterns to create a pleasing display?" While Toriel and Sans shared many common interests, she was aware that her passion for gastropods – both aesthetic and culinary – was not one of them. Nonetheless, he simply shrugged and nodded with an expression she recognised as 'I don't get it, but I'll go along with whatever you say'. "Now, I wonder where we might find some in here?"

As Toriel glanced around the store, her eyes fell upon a pair of colourfully dressed shop assistants: two monsters, an alligator and a cat, who appeared to be waving to them from behind their counter at the back of the store. As her energy levels were fast depleting, her feet beginning to ache from trudging around all afternoon, she decided they seemed as reasonable a source to ask as any.

"Hey! Check it out!" The alligator waved as they wandered over, flicking her blonde curls over her shoulder with one hand and indicating the selection of glistening scales on offer with the other. "You should totally buy some of our fish!"

"It's like, the _best_ fish," her friend added, nodding vigorously. "We tested it ourselves, right, Bratty? Like, you will  literally die when you taste this fish, it's so good."

" _Literally_. Except, like – metaphorically, obviously. It'd kind of suck if you _actually_ died. But you almost definitely won't, 'cause me and Catty are fine. Hey, wait a sec –" Bratty, as she was apparently known, paused to narrow her eyes over her long, lipsticked snout. "Don't we, like, know you from somewhere?"

"Oooh, yeah, I remember now!" Catty chimed in. "You used to open for Mettaton, right? At the resort?"

“Me?” They all turned to look expectantly at Sans, who simply shrugged noncommitally, though the way his sockets dimmed for just a moment suggested the memory was not a particularly pleasant one; Toriel made a mental note to ask him about it later. “Oh...yeah, maybe, a couple times.”

"Called it! So...is it _true_?" Catty leaned forwards over the fish, her big, yellow eyes growing increasingly wider with curiosity. "That you guys are dating now?"

"Uhhh – _what_?" _That_ got a reaction; Sans let out an incredulous splutter, as though unsure whether he found the insinuation hilarious or horrifying. "Me and _Mettaton_?!"

"Mettaton and _I_ ," Toriel could not resist correcting him, attempting unsuccessfully to stifle a giggle into her paw. "Well, Sans – is there something you would like to tell us?"

"Catty, I told you that wasn't him!" Bratty interrupted, elbowing her in the side. "It was the _other_ skeleton – the tall hot one, remember? It was all _over_ Mettanet."

"Ohhh. Okay, my bad." Catty giggled sheepishly, holding up her paws in a shrug. "That makes _so_ much more sense. 'Cause you...really don't seem like his type. Um, no offense and stuff."

"Least amount of offense ever taken," Sans replied with a dry chuckle, regaining his composure save for a slight crease in his brow which suggested he would have much to discuss with Papyrus when they got home. "Anyway, we were just looking for..."

"But this one's hanging out with the _queen_ , which is maybe...half as cool as that, I guess?" Bratty continued. "So what are you, like, her servant or something?"

"Oh my god, does Mettaton need a servant? Because we _totally_ volunteer."

"We would be the _best_ at that job."

"I feel like maybe we, like, already _have_ that job?"

"He just doesn't know it yet. Also we don't get paid or actually have to do anything."

" _Yet_!"

"Let's go with 'or something'," Sans eventually managed to get the words in edgeways, slipping his hand into Toriel's below the counter with a discreet but meaningful squeeze; just enough for her to feel –while he wasn't one for grand public gestures – he was happy and proud to be with her, and it must have shone through from her soul to her smile as Bratty raised an eyebrow.

"Aw, really? That's cute! And...kinda weird?" She looked them both up and down with a vaguely perturbed expression Toriel was by now too familiar with to be offended by. “'Cause you're all...”

“And then _you're_ like...”

“But, like, whatever! We're totally not gonna judge and stuff.”

"Also," Catty added, her ears quavering hopefully, "if you guys are together, does that mean Asgore is, like... _single_?"

Bratty snorted, shaking her head pityingly. "God, Catty, stop being so _thirsty_."

"I'm taking a _healthy interest_ in our royal affairs, Bratty!” Catty shoved her, and the two of them promptly dissolved into giggles.

"Ladies," Toriel interrupted eventually, in her most pleasant yet authorative tone usually reserved for reclaiming the attention of an overexcited Friday afternoon class, "while I would love to stay and chat, I am afraid we are on a rather tight schedule at this moment! So if I might possibly trouble you, we were wondering whereabouts in this place one might find the snails?"

"Oh, snails...?" As they sobered up, Bratty and Catty exchanged a puzzled look.

"Oh... _snails_." 

"We have a monster food section...um, somewhere over there, I think?" Bratty pointed a manicured claw vaguely towards the front of the store. "But it's like..."

" _Super_ small and hardly has any of the good stuff." Catty wrinkled her nose.

"They don't even sell Glamburgers."

"Oh my god, right?! _Everyone_ knows they're like, the greatest achievement of monsterkind or something."

"Not that we ever actually got to taste any..."

"Which is like, _the_ most tragic tale in the Underground, right, Bratty?" Catty draped a paw theatrically across her forehead, pretending to faint against her friend; Bratty scoffed, but let Catty's head linger on her shoulder a moment before her eyes snapped open again. "Oh, wait, actually. I think there _is_ a snail farm around the block!"

"Um, isn't that a record store now?" 

"Yeah, I guess, but they still race snails out back! It's like, a whole thing."

Bratty giggled. "Catty, since when did _you_ become, like, the expert on snails around here?"

Catty flipped a tuft of blue hair out of her eyes, flashing them a smug smile. "Since I heard how Mettaton totally goes there, like, _all_ the time?"

"Wait, _seriously_?!"

Toriel sensed the pair would not yield any more useful information, as charming as they were in their own way. "Ah, I understand – well, thank you both very much for your time. It has been a pleasure, but I think it is time we were on our way." She nudged Sans and tilted her head pointedly back towards their cart, and he nodded in understanding, offering Bratty and Catty a wave in return.

"Laters!"

"If it doesn't work out with Mettaton, tell him to call me!"

"Really, Catty, _really_?"

"Okay, sorry –"

"She means tell him to call _us_!"

"So...you wanna check out that snail farm on the way home?" Sans asked after they had left them to it, making their way back to the front of the store towards the cashiers. 

"Ah..." Toriel hesitated, allowing herself one lingering thought of a succulent, slimy snack before she shook her head. "No, we do not have to do that. We have plenty of food as it is, and besides, you were right – the children will not want to eat snails."

"Probably not, but _you_ do," he pointed out, shooting her a knowing but sympathetic look, and Toriel could not very well deny it. "C'mon, maybe it'll be fun. My treat?"

It had been a long afternoon, and they both knew that staying out a moment longer when he could be at home sleeping was not Sans' idea of fun; the knowledge that he was doing this for her melted Toriel's heart, just a little, as her face softened into a smile and she widened her eyes in mock surprise. "Do you mean to tell me that you actually have _money_?"

"Okay, so maybe I wouldn't go that far," he admitted with a sheepish chuckle, "but...I _might_ just have some Thundersnail winnings long overdue for collection. Whaddaya say?"

Toriel tutted half-heartedly, but she was unable to keep the smile from growing across her face as she squeezed Sans' hand gratefully in return, before turning her attention to packing away their considerable purchases.

"Oh, very well, then. I suppose it couldn't hurt to take a look."

 

* * *

 

 

Frisk's birthday party had, by all accounts, been a great success – which naturally meant that it had also been total chaos. The house was filled with excitable children, running around all over and getting into places they should not be; there were pizza splatters on the walls that Toriel could admittedly not blame _entirely_ on the children (she did not have the best aim, and Sans was not quite as skilled at catching them in his mouth as he claimed, but they had enjoyed themselves trying anyway); and Sans was currently sporting an assortment of crudely drawn...appendages across his face, an unidentified assailant having evidently gotten to him when he'd dozed off during Pin the Gyfts on the 'Trot. Toriel had her own hands full attempting to pick up all the chocolate cupcakes from the carpet while balancing a tower of paper plates when she felt something tugging on her skirt.

"Miss Toriel!" 

She glanced down over the plates into the eyes of an increasingly distressed-looking child. "Is everything alright, Grant?"

"I, um...I don't feel so good..." Clutching his stomach, Grant began to turn alarming shade of green, and Toriel's heart sank as she recognised all too well what was about to happen.

"Oh, goodness, my child, you do not look at all – _Sans_!" she yelled out in desperation, unable at that moment to provide adequate assistance herself. "Could you please come over here and help..."

"On it." Toriel had never been so grateful for Sans' penchant for materialising out of nowhere, much as it made Grant jump as he tentatively patted the child on the back. "C'mon, buddy, let's get you to the..."

But it was too late – Toriel heard him retching, moments before the unmistakable sound and stench of copious vomiting assaulted her senses. She promptly dropped the plates, letting them flutter to the floor in her haste to assess the damage.

"...bathroom," Sans finished helplessly, cringing as Toriel clamped both hands over her mouth and nose, barely suppressing the urge to gag herself at the unappealing cocktail of what had once been birthday cake, pizza, jelly, ice cream, soda and anything else Grant might have consumed – all floating in Frisk's brand new, custom designed, exquisitely bedazzled and _very_ expensive MTT-brand beach hat.

"Oh, _please_ , no..." Toriel and Sans exchanged wide-eyed expressions of pure horror just as Grant, evidently feeling better, leapt to his feet and ran away to join the crowd chasing the little white dog that had somehow wriggled in during the commotion and was barking joyously. "Maybe – maybe it will be okay!" she declared, much more optimistically than she felt. "We will find a way to clean this up, just so long as Frisk does not..."

She really ought to have known better – before either of them could move, Frisk burst in. 

"Mom, Sans, have you guys seen my – oh, never mind, there it is!"

Toriel made a desperate grab for the hat, but her child had already seized it with a satisfied, if short-lived smile. "Frisk, no – _do not put that on your_ –"

It would be mere seconds before the room exploded with ear-splitting screams and howls; weeks before Toriel was able to scrub the horrible stench out of Frisk's hair; months before anyone dared to tell Mettaton the real reason they were not wearing their fabulous hat; and – needless to say – a lifetime before any of them would ever forget that particular party.

  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading and feedback is always appreciated! <3


	13. Our Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Your OTP and music. Do they have a song? Do they sing? Do they dance?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my~ sorry this is even later than usual, I struggled a bit with this one plus RL is getting crazy again etc ^^; so, pop quiz: what's better than shamelessly self indulgent OTP fluff? TWICE the shamelessly self indulgent OTP fluff!! :DD (seriously, I think the only way this could be cheesier is if it were like, actually a songfic. Oh well, hope you guys enjoy at least somewhat as much as I enjoyed writing this anyway! Please do let me know your thoughts if you have any ^w^ )

The thing about the music in the Underground is – when you've been hanging out here your whole life and through multiple different timelines – there isn't really much variety.

Once you've heard a few songs, they're pretty much all the same, whether Sans is lazily flicking through the channels or sitting through Mettaton's latest vehicle with Papyrus even though it feels like he's slowly being buried alive in rose petals – loud, flashy and fake, whether it's thumping dance beats or grandiose, swelling strings. It's maybe not exactly what _he_ would've chosen, but Sans can just about deal; the unrestrained joy lighting up in his little brothers' sockets whenever a familiar rectangular figure sashays across the screen makes it worth it. And on some level, he gets it, why half the Underground's so in love with Mettaton despite him being so...well, _Mettaton_ , because he's literally all they've got. Sparkles and symphonies and aggressively manufactured positivity – it's all an escape, a chance for everyone to forget their problems for a couple of minutes and believe whatever the repetitive robotic lyrics are telling them: they're fabulous, they're shining stars, they're whatever they want to be. They're _free_ , even in the face of the obvious reality that they're most likely stuck down here for the rest of their lives.

For Sans it mostly just feels like background noise – most things do these days. He's not one to judge, if everyone's happy (okay, he kind of is, but not on _this_ particular subject); he just can't help wondering, sometimes, if he'll ever get to hear anything that sounds like it comes from somewhere more...well, _real_ , whatever that means any more. But he isn't expecting to find out when he dozes off at Grillby's yet another night, somewhere around his second ketchup bottle, and wakes up to this melody floating through his skull – slow, sad, hauntingly beautiful. It's like nothing he's ever heard before, _definitely_ not MTT-brand, and for a moment Sans thinks he's still dreaming until he lifts his head and glances around at the empty bar. It's just him and Grillby, perched elegantly at the piano in the corner – Sans didn't even know that dusty old thing _was_ a piano – with his fiery fingers dancing along the keys, filling the room with a tune as light and delicate and delicate as the falling snow, but slowly sliding into something more sinister, like an unspoken threat looming over them, and Sans _feels_ it, somehow, every note sending a chill through his bones. It feels like Snowdin, like the creeping threat of the next day he knows so well, like...home.

"Dude, _Grillbz_ ," he says finally as Grillby finishes, glancing back over his shoulder to meet Sans' sockets as he widens them in awe, “what was _that_? You write that? How come you never told us you could play?" 

Grillby hesitates for a second, before his face flickers into a smile as he tells Sans – in his crackly dialect that he's just about picked up by now – that he doesn't usually like an audience. And even if he _did_ , it's not like he has a spare moment to play for them in between running the whole place himself and keeping on top of all his customers' demands.

Sans shrugs, flashing him a sympathetic grin – Grillby can't be talking about _him_ , he's the least demanding customer ever. “Yeah, okay, I hear ya. Still – you should get some staff in to cover sometime, 'cause that was _great_. No joke, I felt it in my bones. Gotta be better than some of the crap Bun puts on the jukebox, am I right?"

Grillby hisses a reluctant laugh and nods, standing up from the piano bench and smoothing down his clothes. Sans is waiting for him to tell him to go home – it's way after closing time and Papyrus is probably getting worried by now – as he walks back over to the bar and starts gathering glasses, but he says he'll think about it. Or – if Sans wants – maybe Grillby should teach _him_ how to play sometime instead. Then Sans can be the new entertainment, or at least a convenient target for the regulars to heckle and throw fries at.

"Heh – why do I feel like this is payback, somehow?" Sans chuckles, but actually it's a pretty generous offer, and he's kind of touched. “I mean – sure, when you're not busy, why not? That might be cool, or at least something, uh...different.”

They never do get around to those lessons, though because things end up getting _super_ busy and their world gets a whole lot bigger – and brighter, and that's not just because of the sun. Where the Underground was quiet, the surface has music _everywhere_ , with as much variety as anyone could possibly want or need, pouring out of every store on every street corner. Some of it's pretty good, some of it's just as bad as any of Mettaton's bleeps and boops and some of it's _worse_ – but somehow it doesn't feel quite so fake any more, not up here where they're actually free to feel good, or whatever the songs say.

It probably helps now he's with Toriel, who unapologetically loves all of it – the Ruins were always so quiet, she tells him, so it feels so good to be able to surround herself with music. No matter _how_ awful it is, and it shows pretty much every morning when she's making breakfast and singing along to the radio. She doesn't know half the words, but she improvises, making up nonsense as she bounces to the beat with her little tuft of tail bobbing up and down. Sometimes she makes Frisk faceplant into the table, groaning _Moooom,_ it's too early, do you have to be so disgustingly cheerful? Sans sympathises, because he's not even sure what _he's_ doing awake at this time – up until Toriel catches his socket and winks, always as she's braying along with the cheesiest, corniest, most nauseating love song, and he remembers some things are worth getting up for. 

They still end up in Grillby's most nights, because some things don't change; just the amount of songs on the jukebox for everyone to fight over, and the weird human-brew wine Grillby's got in tonight. It's kind of disgusting, but it also makes Sans feel warm and fuzzy inside – although that might just be Toriel, as he's been leaning against her since they reached the stage where just about everything the other one says is the most hilarious thing ever.

"Grillbz, _Grillbzzzz_ ," Bun slurs, leaning over and thumping the bar like he's just had a revelation, "you know what we should do? You know what would _really_ bring in the hot guys?"

Sans only has to catch Toriel's eye to know they're thinking of the exact same joke, and the slightest nudge is enough to set them both off, snorting and spluttering uncontrollably into their drinks before either has a chance to state the obvious. Everyone else, as usual, ignores them.

 " _Karaoke night_!" Bun squeals, and a groan immediately ripples through the room, with a few lone murmurs of interest. "C'mon, you sad sacks, it'll be fun. Grillbz, aren't you always _saying_ we should liven up this place?"

Grillby raises his glasses in his 'I said nothing of the sort' expression; undeterred, Bun reaches out and slings an arm around Sans' neck, pulling him into something between a hug and a headlock. "Sansy! _You'll_ sing with me, right?!"  
  


"Oh, yes, _Sansy,_ " Toriel joins in just a little too eagerly, her eyes glittering with amusement as she slips her arm around Sans' ribs from the other side, so he's effectively trapped, "now that you mention it, I do not believe you have ever blessed us with your dulcet tones! We should put that to rights, should we not?"

Sans is starting to feel unfairly victimised here; he looks to Grillby for help, but he just snickers quietly behind the bar, the traitor. "C'mon, guys," he laughs, holding up both hands in a vain attempt to defend himself, "trust me, _no one_ wants to hear me sing."

" _I_ wanna hear it!" Big Mouth yells out, unhelpfully. "And whoa, hey – you disobeying an order from the _queen_ , Sans? Shouldn't he be, like...executed or something for that, Your Majesty?"

"Goodness, what sort of queen do you take me for?" Toriel gasps in mock offense, before sliding her hands up to Sans' skull and resting her chin gently on top like a warm, furry hat, subtly nudging Bun away in the process – turns out she's a handsy drunk, not that Sans has any bone to pick with that as he feels her smirk. "I am sure I can think of a _much_ more suitable punishment.”

Everyone whoops and hollers as Sans' brow bone shoots up in simultaneous alarm and intrigue at this threat/promise, while Bun hops off of his stool and over to the jukebox. It's right next to the old piano – for some reason, Sans is glad Grillby kept it, even if he hasn't heard him play anything since they moved to the surface. He still occasionally thinks he should take Grillby up on those lessons, or at least get him to play one of his old pieces for Toriel sometime, even if it's just the three of them, because he feels like she deserves to hear something so beautiful – wants to be the one to share it with her, even. He's grinning to himself just from the thought and wonders when the hell he got so mushy, anyway. Must be the wine. Definitely the wine.

Sans' train of thought is interrupted as a familiar, upbeat tune blares out; there's a few half-hearted protests from the bar, but nobody gets up to change it as Toriel's hands fall from Sans' skull to excitedly seize both of his hands.

"Oooh – I know this one! Let us _dance_!"

Even if Sans _could_ say no to those eyes, he figures he's probably not getting much of a choice in the matter anyway so he lets her drag him out of his seat and onto the not-exactly-dancefloor where Bun's already busting some moves by the jukebox, his ears flopping wildly back and forth. Sans isn't exactly a dancer at the best of times, and _now_ he's just a total disaster, tripping over the floor and Toriel's feet, but she barely seems to notice or care, her eyes and cheeks glowing with joy as she moves their linked hands up and down while singing that she just met him, and this is crazy, but – she goes to twirl herself under their arms, temporarily forgetting their height disparity, and misses, stumbling forwards and landing with her full weight _right_ on Sans' foot.

He lets out an involuntary yelp of pain and Toriel gasps, pressing one hand to her mouth as she abruptly skids to a halt.

"Oh, my dear, I am so sorry! Did I hurt you? Let me see..."

She kneels down and lifts Sans' tibia before he can reassure her that he's fine, her brow furrowing in concern as she squeezes his foot gently as though checking for broken bones – just as Bun, happily oblivious to it all, spins around and bumps into Sans, knocking him off-balance so he falls forward and straight into Toriel, sending them tumbling to the floor. Toriel lands flat on her back, Sans sprawled messily half on top of her, and he's not sure who starts to laugh first but soon neither of them can stop, clutching each other and giggling hysterically until Sans' ribs ache, there are tears rolling down his cheekbones and it must be pretty bad because even _Bun_ stops dancing to look down at them with concern.

"Uhhh...you guys okay, or what?"

"Oh...oh my, yes, sorry, excuse me," Toriel splutters, the last of her laughter eventually petering out. “I think – I think, Sans, that perhaps it is time for us to go home.”

"Uh-huh." Home sounds good; the only flaw in that plan is that Toriel is really soft and warm and Sans doesn't really feel like being separated from her right now. "Tori, Tori, Toriiii," he whines, trying for the sympathy vote as he nuzzles his face as far into her neck as he can in an attempt to bury himself in her fluffy fur, "my foot still hurts, I don't think I can walk. You gotta carry me home, 'kay?"

Toriel snorts, goodwill evidently evaporating as she sits up, pushing Sans off of her before hauling them both upright and dusting herself down. “Do not be a baby bones. You will be fine – I am quite sure I would have felt if anything was broken."

That's what he gets for dating a teacher, Sans figures as Grillby leans over the bar and enquires whether he should call Papyrus to pick them up.

"No – _no_ , Grillbz, don't do that. We're good to walk, right?" He glances up at Toriel for confirmation, who nods emphatically. "Yup, all good here. Same time tomorrow, guys, yeah?"

The regulars mumble their goodbyes with varying degrees of enthusiasm, leaving them to stagger out into the cold night air onto the luckily-not-that-long path home.

“Probably should've mentioned,” Sans says as they approach the door, “I, uh – don't really dance. Too much energy.”

Toriel laughs softly, shushing him not to wake Frisk up as she lets them in. “Think nothing of it. You made an...admirable attempt.”

Sometimes, it worries Sans a little that this woman is tasked with ruling over monsterkind, even if mostly hypothetically these days.

But tonight –  or any other, if it's her occasionally questionable judgement that leads him back to her bed – he supposes he can't exactly complain.

  
  


* * *

 

From the moment the music started up as Alphys shuffled awkwardly down the aisle as though scared of tripping over her dress, Mettaton on her arm and her eyes darting nervously all around the room before they landed on Undyne and instantly lit up, her mouth curling up into the hugest, goofiest, most genuine grin like there was no one else in the room but her soon-to-be wife waiting in her tux at the altar, today was always going to be emotional. Toriel's eyes were already starting to mist over before they'd taken their seats, and by the time they got to the vows she was almost as much of an emotional wreck as Papyrus, who was practically vibrating with excitement as he took his place as best skeleton besides Undyne. The tears of pride glistening in his sockets started flowing freely down his cheekbones when Undyne impatiently burst out that yes, _obviously_ she took this giant dork to be her lawfully wedded wife, before taking Alphys in her arms and dipping her into a kiss so passionate Toriel probably would have covered Frisk's eyes if they hadn't been up there with them, clutching a blue and yellow bouquet and grinning from ear to ear.

"It is terribly cliché of me, I know," she says later at the reception, dabbing delicately at her eyes with a tissue. "It is just...such a wonderful day to be a part of, to witness the love between these two young monsters. Just to imagine the lifetime they will share together..." She sniffles, before flashing Sans a watery, self-deprecating smile. "Oh, do not mind me. I am just a silly old goat."

"I don't mind. I got a thing for silly old goats." Sans winks at her and Toriel snorts, bumping her foot affectionately against his as they fall into a contented, companionable silence. It is pretty great, he has to admit, looking around the room at everyone; Undyne's idea of dancing is basically tossing Alphys around like a pancake, and she couldn't look happier about it, shrieking with delight as Undyne whirls her around with her arms wrapped around her neck like she's never letting go. On the other side of the room, Asgore looks like he's deep in conversation with that creepy-cute spider girl from the bakery, while Mettaton is leading Frisk, Papyrus and a whole crowd of others in a series of increasingly elaborate poses, until Frisk catches Sans' socket and takes the opportunity to turn and point dramatically at them.

"Sans! Mom! Come over here and dance with us!"

"It seems we have been summoned," Toriel says, smiling fondly as she waves back at them before offering her hand to Sans instead, an anticipatory twinkle in her eye as she nods towards the dancefloor. “Shall we?”

He grins back at her, throwing in a defeated shrug mostly for show before accepting Toriel's hand, linking their fingers together as it closes around his with a warm, reassuring squeeze. “I guess we shall. If you can't beat 'em...”

Just as they make their way over to join Frisk and the others, the song changes; something Sans doesn't recognise, slow, yearning guitar chords rolling in and making them both hesitate for a moment, smiling awkwardly at each other like teenagers at a high school dance.

“You, uh...remember how it usually works out when I dance, right?”

"I do, and I shall take my chances." Toriel lets out a soft chuckle, warm and soothing as her touch as she manoeuvres them gently into position, moving Sans' hand up to her waist while hers settles on his hipbone. "Do not fret, I believe we will be fine. Just...go with what you feel is right, yes?”

From anyone else, it'd probably be pretty useless advice – but Toriel's not everyone else, and from the moment they start to move together, slowly at first, back and forth with the music, it doesn't feel the same as all those other times, either. It's almost like the song is moving _them_ , falling into a natural rhythm as the song builds around them to something stronger, sweeter, more uplifting and Toriel smiles back at him encouragingly, like she's proud of Sans for not screwing up or stepping on her toes yet. The DJ's actually pretty good, he thinks idly – he's Mettaton's cousin or something, but he can't help that. Sans is definitely going to find some way of convincing Grillby to play, though, when it's his –

...wait, _what_?

Maybe that really is when it hits him – the most cliché of moments, gazing up into Toriel's huge, beautiful eyes, shining as they catch the light and soft with the kind of love that's still almost too much for Sans to handle, that he still can't really believe he has, or deserves for that matter _,_ with the singer crooning about their true colours shining through, and that's why I love you...and yeah, of course he does because it's _Toriel_ and  she's the best thing that's ever happened to him in any timeline, how much of a bonehead would he be if he _didn't_ want to be with her for the rest of his life, or as much of it as she was willing to put up with him? Because no one makes him laugh like she does, and no one makes him feel _safe_ like she does, like even if he screws up, even if they stumble and fall and bring the whole place crashing down with them, everything's going to be okay as long as they're together, but – holy shit, he does, he wants _this_. He wants to _marry her_ , and it's amazing and terrifying and probably totally insane and Sans feels like his soul's about to burst just from keeping it in, trying and failing to stop the huge, stupid grin stretching his skull like an idiot because Toriel is definitely onto him.

“What is funny?” she asks, arching a suspicious eyebrow and smiling too despite herself.

"You," Sans tells her automatically; Toriel lets out a little huff, equal parts indignation and amusement, but before she can reply he continues, more seriously: "Tori...you trust me, right?"

Toriel blinks, the question seemingly catching her a little off-guard. “Why, Sans, of _course_ I do. For why would you ask such a thing?”

It's a little risky, he knows; they haven't really tried anything like this before, but then there's also never been a time where it felt so right, until now.

"I just...wanna try something."

Before Toriel can respond, Sans lets go of her and steps back, just for a moment; the magic flares up from his soul and into his hand as he reaches out again and Toriel bleats in surprise at the new sensation, the soft blue glow enveloping her. He hesitates for a split second, just long enough to meet her eyes and realise it's okay: she trusts him, even like this with her soul almost literally in the palm of his hand, her energy intertwining with his before he flicks his wrist – a simple but carefully timed movement, spinning them both in a circle and twirling Toriel around and away from him before bringing her back and dipping her low to the floor so Sans catches her neatly in his arms and his magic, their faces barely an inch apart.

"My goodness, _Sans_!" Toriel exclaims, wide-eyed and breathless as she gazes up at him before breaking into a huge, exhilarated grin, her eyes and her cheeks flushed with pleasure. "And here you have been telling me you do not dance..."

"I don't." Sans can't keep from smirking as he gives Toriel a moment to catch her breath before lifting her again, right up off her feet and into the air so her dress billows spectacularly all around her as he twirls her one last time; it's not really in time with the song any more but he couldn't care less, catching hold of her hands in the air as the magic dissipates around them and he brings her back down to earth. It's Toriel who catches Sans this time , stumbling to an inelegant finish as he falls into her, their hands still interlinked and laughing a little already with sheer joy before he even drops the punchline: “But sometimes I still need to practice my pickup lines."

"You _guys_ – you know you're not supposed to upstage the brides, right?" Frisk interrupts the moment, bounding over and shaking their head mock-disapprovingly as they somehow manage to wriggle right in between Toriel and Sans like a self-appointed chaperone. “Even if that _did_ look super fun.” Predictably, they turn their biggest, most hopeful puppy-dog eyes on Sans. “Saaans...can I –“

"Absolutely _not_ ,” Toriel interrupts swiftly, planting her hands on her hips and fixing them both with her sternest 'don't even think about it' look. "You, my child, are to remain firmly _grounded_. I mean that in the sense that you are to stay _on_ the ground," she clarifies, "not that you are not allowed to leave the house, of course."

"But _Mom_ –"

"Sorry, kiddo - your mom knows best." Sans backs her up, reaching out to ruffle Frisk's hair with a sympathetic wink. "We don't want any broken bones here  - yours _or_ mine."

"Hey, little punk, c'mere –" Before Frisk can protest any further, Undyne pounces on them from behind, scooping them up and whirling them around so their legs go flailing through the air. “You didn't really think you needed puny skeleton magic for _this_ , did you?!”

Frisk squeals with delight, Toriel clutches at Sans in alarm and Alphys giggles sheepishly as he catches her eye, glowing with happiness, and they grin at each other in what's obviously the universal “how did a couple of dorks like us end up with such ridiculously amazing girlfriends/wives” expression.

That one, Sans still hasn't figured out – but he'll get around to it some other time, because the next song's starting up and he's already being pulled into a mass dance-off, Toriel on one arm and Frisk on the other. It's one of Mettaton's old hits, but remixed into something more spookwave, with more of an edge to it but the same ecstatic euphoria, an incredible energy pumping through the air that feels like – as cliché as it also is – the souls of every monster and human in the room beating together as one.

Sans looks at Toriel, illuminated with laughter and love under the strobe lights as she twirls Frisk around under one arm before reaching out to do the same with him, and nothing has ever sounded better.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading and feedback is always appreciated! <3


	14. Stargazing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Your OTP stargazing. Where are they doing this? Are they out camping? Are they sitting on a rooftop? What constellations are they looking at?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First things first: omg we hit 100 kudos!!! *^* it may not seem like that much, but it seriously means so much to me. Thank you so much to everyone who has kudosed and/or commented, and a special shout out to my regular reviewers - it makes me so happy to hear that you guys are still enjoying this...whatever the heck this is turning out to be (a lot of ridiculous fluff, mostly)!!! <33 I know updates have been slow lately, and probably will be for a while because RL things no1curr about, but yeah!! this is really awesome to hear c':
> 
> alright so anyway~! We're taking a little detour back to the Underground for this one - post neutral ending. I guess it's not technically stargazing in the strictest sense of the word, but I didn't want it to end up being too similar to my OTHER UT stargazing fic (which is Alphyne not Soriel, but still there's only so much poorly wikipedia'd constellations one can take) so um, yeah! Please feel free let me know if you liked the thing, or didn't like the thing, or have no strong feelings one way or the other about the thing! c:

For as long as Toriel had languished in the Ruins, her first few steps outside of the door and into the rest of the Underground were some of the hardest she had ever had to take.

Because the truth was, as much as she yearned for company, after all these years there was also a perverse kind of comfort in her loneliness, a familiarity that would be lost the moment she set foot outside of that door. Toriel was no fool; she knew well what people would say about her, those that even cared to remember she existed in the first place. She was weak, selfish, a coward, she had abandoned her people just as she had betrayed her husband, when they all needed her most. None of it would bother her – for she has endured far worse than a few unflattering names - had she not harboured the suspicion, a sickness twisting in her stomach in the dead of the night, unable to escape into sleep while surrounded by reminders of all she had lost, that perhaps they were right.

Something changed, however, the day she stood in front of Frisk in yet another futile attempt to prevent another child passing through that door. Toriel recognised a gleam in the child's eyes that both excited and terrified her, as she realised simultaneously that she could never hope to stand a chance at stopping them – but also that perhaps _they_ stood a better chance of making it on the other side than any of the others, as they weaved and dodged her wisps of fire magic while maintaining steadfast eye contact as though they knew, somehow, that Toriel could never have brought herself to hurt them. Of course, she still worried about them as soon as that door swung shut, she still replayed the moment over and over again in her mind, wondering if she could have done more, said or done something that would have convinced them to stay with her. And yet, somewhere deep in her soul, she also began to feel the first flickers of hope that perhaps, this time, their efforts would not be in vain. Perhaps that is why, upon realising Frisk had travelled all the way across the Underground to meet Asgore, she did not hesitate to leave – for despite all the trepidation she felt, if she still had a chance of saving one – just _one_ – child from meeting the same fate as the others, she may yet begin to atone for her past failures.

And, in the end, she did – but it had not come without cost. For the same day Toriel saw the human child ascend to the surface, as she hoped but did not dare to believe they would, she saw her former husband crumble to dust before her eyes. Though perhaps she did not have the right, Toriel wept for Asgore, for whatever trace remained of the man she once loved as she saw the Underground turn to terrible disarray, the people grieving for their king and for all that he had promised, their greatest hope for freedom cruelly and unjustly snatched away, once again. That first night, Toriel simply sat there on Asgore's throne, the tears trickling down her cheeks and matting her fur no longer for the Ruins of her past, but for this New Home, as it had once been. She could no longer hide from the reality of their situation – she chose to come back from her self-imposed exile, and now she had a duty. With a final sniffle and a sigh, she rose to her feet, walked over to the throne she had fled from all those years ago and swiftly pulled off the thin sheet that covered it, coughing as the dust that had been gathering for decades filled her eyes and nose.

Toriel did not envision herself ever willingly resuming her rule – but then, hidden away in the Ruins, having warned children so many times that the Underground was a dark, dangerous place that she herself lived in fear of what was on the other side of that door, she never imagined that the Underground would _need_ her again. And, as daunting as it is to meet the unrelenting glare of the public eye again, it also gives her a renewed sense of purpose. To have so many people – _her_ people – looking to her for guidance, she finds herself growing more determined than ever not to let them down, that nobody – monster or human – will have to suffer as they once did. Though her new policies do meet some murmurings of dissent, Toriel is also overwhelmed – and genuinely touched – that there are so many monsters willing to welcome her back with open arms. She realised, in those last few moments before they parted, just how much of a difference Frisk has made, how many souls they have touched just by showing them mercy, by being a friend. Yes, it is eerily reminiscent of the angel in the prophecy, but Toriel can no longer afford to pin her hopes on a fairy tale. She can only try to hold onto what she felt in Frisk – the love and compassion that Toriel wishes to rule by, to preserve and nurture and extend to her people, in place of the fear and hatred that governed them all for so long. 

It is not an easy transition, for any of them, but Toriel feels there is change in the air, her heart warmed by the sight of everyone pulling together. Her new school is a success, and she is as relieved as she is grateful to see Undyne – Asgore's fiercest supporter since she barely reached Toriel's knee, the most dedicated captain of the now-disbanded Royal Guard and, if Toriel is honest with herself, perhaps the monster she was the most apprehensive about meeting again – take to teaching like a...well, like a fish to water, she supposes, pouring all of her passion for bringing humanity to justice now into keeping the children of the Underground fit and healthy. Alphys, the new Royal Scientist, also seems very sweet, if needlessly flustered whenever Toriel stops by the lab to see how her research is coming along, but she promises she is working on a solution that will one day enable them to pass through the barrier peacefully, and that she too will not give up.

And, of course, there is Sans – the voice that once brightened Toriel's long, lonely days in the Ruins, now in the metaphorical flesh and literal bone. Their circumstances are very different now; his services as a sentry are no longer required, so naturally Toriel offers him any number of available administrative positions in her court, or even tending to the gardens alongside his brother, but Sans declines, telling her in that way he has where she cannot always tell whether he is joking or not that he's not sure he is ready for such a responsibility, and that he still has some ambiguously-worded "stuff to take care of".

Regardless, he still stops by the castle as often as he can, and Toriel finds herself looking forward to these visits more than ever, the joy of actually being able to open the door after their customary knock-knock joke and seeing Sans' fixed smile widen as yet undiminished. There is a thrill in leaving all of her daily worries and responsibilities behind, if only for an evening, when the door closes behind them; it is almost as if she is experiencing the Underground anew, no longer bound by fear or duty to one place, and no longer alone as they walk through the quiet tranquility of Waterfall.

"So this is where you used to work?" she asks, as they arrive in a secluded but cosy corner of the cavern, empty but for a small wooden sentry hut and what appears to be a telescope.

"One of the places, yeah – depending how you define 'work'. I think I might even still have..." Sans disappears into his former post for a moment, shuffling around under the counter where Toriel cannot see before he emerges with an orange creation in either hand. "Hot dog? Wait, don't tell me – you're more of a cat lady." Toriel smiles, glancing down at the miniature menagerie – though a little dusty, they are not without their charm. "Sorry it's not much of a royal banquet," he adds, meeting her eyes with a sheepish grin, "but, y'know, these things have been selling like – well, like hot animals lately. I sold twenty-nine just the other day."

"My, that _is_ impressive," Toriel says, trailing a finger along the 'hot cat' as though petting it, "and, I am sure, with good reason. But I think I shall leave it for another time, as much as I do like to sample the, ah...local cuisine."

"Suit yourself." Sans shrugs amiably, before taking a bite of the dog himself. Despite the 'royal banquet' remark, Toriel is relieved that he does not seem intimidated by her royal title, for initially she could not help but worry that it would affect their friendship, that the ease and familiarity with which they addressed each other through the door – when Toriel was "Door Lady", and Sans was most often simply "my friend", although in her head she sometimes enjoyed thinking of him as her "mystery man" – would be lost if she revealed her true identity. But meeting in the flesh-and-bone has been more wonderful than anything she imagined, for there is simply no comparison between a disembodied voice behind a door that may have been inches, but could as well have been worlds away, and _Sans_ , her friend, showing her his favourite places, laughing with her, smiling at her...

Well – perhaps, if Toriel is truly honest, it is not strictly true that _nothing_ has changed. It is becoming harder to deny the unexpected, but not at all unpleasant spark of... _something_ in her soul when they are laughing so hard they have to lean on one another for support, or the frisson of electricity when their hands might brush in passing – or even moments such as these, when the soft glow of Waterfall catches the light in Sans' sockets, dancing between curiosity and amusement as they meet Toriel's eyes, and she feels almost as if she has been caught doing something she should not. But to address _that_ would present another set of complications entirely, and Toriel has no desire to do so tonight, so she simply smiles back before averting her eyes to the telescope.

"And I suppose this would be another of the tools of your trade," she comments, running a paw over the smooth plastic surface, "for spotting any passing humans, yes? May I take a look?"

"Sure – knock yourself out." 

Toriel lowers her head to peer into the eyepiece, but she cannot see much of anything due to a garish red smear across the lens; she draws back, and as she blinks she feels an alarming wetness, as though something is caught on her eyelashes. "Sans, I am not sure your telescope is working..."

"It's not – _oh_. Uh, actually, Tori, maybe hold off on that just for a sec –" It may be the fastest she has ever seen Sans move, crossing from his post to her side with an urgency that would concern her, if he did not immediately break out into a wide grin like a mischievous child when she looks at him expectantly. “Actually, never mind, you're good. Maybe just a little red-eyed."

"What _is_ it? Did you do something to the telescope?" Toriel demands, trying to stay stern despite his poorly concealed and inconveniently infectious amusement. She rubs her eyes and blinks down at her paws to see an unsightly red stain. "Is that... _ketchup_?"

"Okay, in my defence," Sans begins, no longer attempting to disguise the laughter rattling his bones as he holds up both hands in an unconvincing show of innocence, "I wasn't exactly expecting the _queen_ to stop by anytime soon. Sorry, Tori – c'mere, let me get that for ya."

Toriel sighs, smiling despite herself as he beckons her over, but relents, bending down as gracefully as she can until they are almost nose to...well, the little hollow where nose would normally be, for she cannot claim to be familiar with the intricacies of skeleton anatomy, but up close it is curiously endearing. Toriel has a peculiar urge to nuzzle it, but manages to restrain herself as Sans gently wipes the debris from around her left eye – and then, to her astonishment, proceeds to lick it straight off his fingers.

“Still fresh.”

"Oh, do not _eat_ it!" Toriel exclaims, pushing him away and scrunching up her nose in disgust, though she is unable to stop a few giggles from escaping as she plants her hands on her hips, shaking her head in exasperation. "Goodness, Sans – whatever am I going to do with you? I am beginning to think someone ought to cook you a proper meal. Do you know..." She pauses, smile turning a little more sly as she detects an opportunity for revenge, “for a moment there, I _almost_ believed you were about to kiss me.”

She winks and the light in Sans' sockets almost disappears completely for a moment, before he lets out a _pffffft_ of incredulous laughter; it may be the blue glow of the cavern across his cheekbones, but Toriel believes he is blushing. "Heh – wow, okay. I, uh, don't remember _that_ being in the job description when I signed up. Come to think of it, did I even sign up?” He smirks, ducking from her gaze to run a finger around the eyepiece as though checking for leftovers; an unspoken but palpable tension lingers in the air until he continues, hastily changing the subject: “Actually, I didn't really get this to watch out for humans. I just, uh...like to look at the stars, sometimes. I mean, I know they're not the real stars, but it's...something."

Sans still sounds a little embarrassed, as though he is divulging something intensely personal; Toriel is unsure as to why, but she smiles and nods, hoping to put him at ease again. “Perfectly understandable. It is beautiful out here."

A silence settles over them as she takes in the view; inevitably, much of the Underground has changed in her absence, so it is somehow reassuring to find Waterfall just as she remembers it, unspoiled by the turmoil of the city, the light of the sparkling stones glancing off the water's edge just like the paintings of the true stars in her old history books. Despite all that she has lost, Toriel still feels fortunate to know that this place is still here for her, and that she is here with Sans.

"At the lab," he says after a moment, "Alphys has this big simulation of all the stars up on her screen. She says it's as scientifically accurate as we can make it for now – it was an ongoing thing, gathering our research, inputting the data. We used to look at it, map out the constellations...I mean, I'm not sure the guys on the surface would've actually named them 'Undyne's abs', but..." He shrugs, and they share a knowing chuckle as he catches Toriel's eyes. "It's still pretty cool to see them all. You should ask her to show you sometime."

"It sounds wonderful. Perhaps I will do just that." Toriel pauses, trying not to sound too interested as she asks: "I did not know you and Alphys were close. Snowdin and Hotland are awfully far apart, are they not?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah – well, we kind of worked together a while back, y'know, before I was a sentry. Nothing too important, just working out some...stuff.” This information immediately piques her curiosity even further – she never would have taken Sans for a scientist, but evidently they still have much to learn about each other, though she cannot help wondering whether he is being vague due to the nature of their research, or perhaps even his past relationship with Alphys.

As queen, it is technically within her rights to demand he tells her _everything_ he knows, if she believes it to be pertinent to national security – but even if that were the case, Toriel has absolutely no desire to exert her authority in such a way. Sans is – and she hopes he always will be – her friend, her equal, her...well, certainly more than simply another of her subjects to be ruled over. Besides, she reminds herself, she should not be such a nosy old woman – Sans is a big bones, in soul if not in stature, and is free to spend time with whoever he pleases.

So she settles for an equally non-committal _hmm_ in response, and waits for him to fill the silence that follows: “Anyway, I guess that's the view from up here – you can see more down by the river.”

They make their way along a short path into the adjoining cavern, bathed in an eerie blue glow from the various flora, and emerge from the silence into a chamber filled with whispers and rustles, fragments of conversations long forgotten rising from the cyan blossoms. Toriel remembers the echo flowers, of course – they are an institution of the Underground for their striking appearance as much as their unique abilities – but somehow, their hushed but persistent murmurings as they walk through the fields are a little more unsettling than she remembers, barely comprehensible snatches of words drifting by her ears before she can catch them almost mocking, almost as if – and Toriel knows this is absurd – they might be talking among themselves about her, watching, whispering, _judging_. 

"Are you a star?"

"Hmm?" Toriel startles at the curious, childlike voice, stopping in her tracks as her head jerks instinctively to look back over her shoulder – it was so clear, so distinct from the general murmur, for a moment she is sure there must be someone else in the room with them, but of course it is just Sans, who raises a quizzical brow bone.

"I, uh, didn't say anything."

"Of course not. Sorry – it is just the flowers, I know." Toriel manages an apologetic smile, running her claws self-consciously through the fur on the back of her neck. "Do not mind me, I just...I have not passed through here in some time. I suppose I had forgotten just how...lively they can be."

"I guess they are pretty talkative today. Hey, buddy..." Sans ambles over to address one of the flowers on the side, "why so blue?" Toriel cannot help snorting at the dreadful joke as the flower repeats the question in earnest, and he continues, glancing back at her: "You know, I was actually thinking of planting some flowers myself."

"Oh, you were?" Toriel's ears prick up in interest. "How lovely! Which kind? It may be a little difficult to grow them in Snowdin, but if you need any help at all, I would be more than happy to –"

"– but then I realised...I hadn't _botany_."

" _Oh!_ " Toriel bursts out laughing; Sans starts to snicker as well, which the flower to join in, followed by the one next to it, and the one next to _that_ , until almost the entire field is laughing along, an unorthodox yet oddly striking symphony of braying giggles and deep chuckles playing out over the fields and echoing through the cavern. It is quite surreal, surrounded by the sounds of her own mirth – and, oh dear, does she _always_ snort that loudly? – yet when she looks back at Sans, after they have both stopped laughing but nevertheless exchange wide, foolish grins, curiously comforting, as the flowers begin to feel more like old friends again. Eventually the fields quieten, the last remnants of laughter dissipating into the air, but the warmth in her soul lingers.

"Well," she remarks, grinning back at Sans, "I be- _leaf_ you have a most appreciative audience here."

"I know, right? Maybe I'll start carrying a few of these around with me – my career could really _blossom_." They laugh again, too softly for the flowers to catch this time, and Sans adds: "Still not the best audience I've ever had, though. I mean, no one beats you."

Toriel beams, feeling her cheeks flushing unexpectedly at the compliment and hoping it is not too visible in their darkening surroundings. "Why, thank you. I am pleased to hear I am not so easily replaced in your affections by echo flowers."

"No way. Well, unless they somehow develop the ability to make pie – _then_ maybe you got some competition, Tori.”

Toriel chooses not to dignify that with a response, scoffing and shaking her head fondly at him as they approach an area she recognises: the grassy bank right next to the river, always a favoured picnic spot. They have no food now, although it would not surprise her if Sans were to produce yet another variety of hot animal from his pocket – sometimes she is sure he must be carrying half the Underground in there – but he simply sits, bones cracking as he stretches his legs out, and after a moment's hesitation Toriel joins him, gathering her robes to arrange herself as comfortably as possible. The grass is a little damp, but she does not mind.

"Y'see, that's the other thing about these guys," Sans says, nodding towards the flowers flanking them on either side of the river, "they seem so harmless. You say something, they say it back, it's all good fun. I mean, they're _flowers_ – of all the dangerous things down here, you'd never think they could hurt anyone, right? But once they're done kidding around, people forget they're here, and they forget how much they hear. And some things – well, maybe some things weren't meant to be heard, and some things you don't wanna remember. But, here, they don't forget, not until they've passed on whatever they've heard. And they get to hear...a lot." 

There is barely any change in Sans' usual monotone, but he does not meet Toriel's eyes as he speaks, his skull turned up towards the sparkling stones overhead; for a brief instant, a cloud of darkness seems to pass over his face, as though he is seeing – or remembering – something up there that she cannot. Then it is gone, as he glances back at her and cracks a smile, but his sockets do not brighten as they usually do when it is genuine. "Heh – sorry. I guess I kinda _spaced_ out for a moment there."

Toriel smiles at the pun, but she hopes he will continue; she has rarely seen Sans like this, quiet and contemplative, and while a part of her is concerned about what he could have seen, to say such things, she cannot help but find it fascinating, too. "Not at all. You are quite right – I suppose we all have things we would sooner forget, which we would not want passing freely among the flowers."

"Right." The corners of Sans' mouth appear to lift a little higher as he looks back at her, before speaking again. "So, me and Papyrus used to come here all the time as kids, right? Not a whole lot else to do around Snowdin, but we always had a blast. Then, this one time...we were around here, chilling by the river. Paps was practicing his attacks, and I – well, I guess I fell asleep. But next thing I know, he's shaking me awake, terrified, absolutely crying his sockets out, saying he wants to go home, we have to go home _right now_."

"Oh, no!" Toriel presses a hand to her mouth at the thought of _anything_ happening to dear, sweet Papyrus. "What was the matter? Did something happen to him?"

"He was crying too hard to tell me, so obviously I had to get us out of there as fast as I could. We get home, I manage to calm him down, and eventually he tells me a flower said something mean to him. Then all the other flowers started saying it, too, and he tried to run away but they were everywhere, they just kept saying it...He thought it was his fault, he'd done something wrong, because they were all being nice to him yesterday."

"Ah, I see. Oh, the poor dear.” Toriel bites her lip, the image tugging at her soul. “Did you tell him –"

"I tried to explain that they weren't actually talking to him, they're just flowers, they just repeated whatever they'd heard – but I don't think he got it, or if he did it didn't seem to make him feel any better. So that night, after Pap's bedtime story, I came back here when no one was around. I went to _all_ the flowers – every last one of 'em I could find – and I told them...'The Great Papyrus is the most sensational skeleton in Snowdin!'. 'No – in the   Underground!'. 'The Great Papyrus always produces the most _perplexing_ puzzles!' 'The Great Papyrus is gonna be the strongest, toughest, coolest Royal Guard _ever_!' Stuff like that – well, I didn't want them to sound like _me_ ," he adds in his normal tone by way of explanation, chuckling a little too as Toriel stifles a giggle at the endearingly unconvincing falsetto. "Anyway, the next day, I got up early – okay, Tori, you don't have to look _that_ surprised – and Papyrus really didn't want to go back to Waterfall, as you can probably imagine, but I promised him it'd be worth it, the flowers had something _very_ important they wanted to tell him, but we had to go soon, before anyone else got there. So we did, and, well..." Sans shrugs, but Toriel already sees the genuine pride and affection shining through in his smile at the memory, "judging by the look on his face when we got there, I'd say he got the message."

"Ahhh, how wonderful. I am so glad that story had a happy ending." Toriel feels her own smile tugging at the corners of her lips, as it inevitably does whenever Sans talks about Papyrus; even from behind the door, she could always hear the smile in his voice, the fierce, unconditional love behind every word, even when he was complaining that he'd moved his sock collection _again_. Back then, as much as it warmed her soul, she could not help but feel a pang of something like envy listening to those tales, reminding her of the family she no longer had. But now, it fills her with a new kind of hope, now she has seen for herself the love that still exists in the Underground. She wants – no, she _has_ to protect that love, watch it blossom and thrive, in all its forms, for the sake of all of her people as much as for herself. With that thought, she reaches out and gently places her hand on top of Sans' where they rests on the grass between them. "That was a very sweet thing of you to do for your brother."

"Oh...heh, no, it was nothing really." He grins back at her a little sheepishly, shrugging shrugging off the compliment like he does most things; she has noticed that Sans often seems slightly uncomfortable with, or perhaps simply unaccustomed to praise. Still, Toriel does not intend to stop giving it where deserved, and he does not move his hand away. "I mean, I had to do something. No one messes with my little bro – especially not some dumb flower, right?"

"They certainly do not – unless, of course, they wish to have a bad time," Toriel agrees, and they exchange wry smiles, recent events coming to mind. Perhaps flowers are not the most trustworthy sorts, after all. "Well – as I said, it was long ago, but we also used to bring the children here. Asriel loved to see the stones, the echo flowers – he took it all very seriously indeed." She smiles, warm and wistful; she can still hear him clear as day in her mind: " _Mooom_ , don't watch! I can see you peeking! It has to be a _secret_ , remember?". "I did not like them running off into the fields alone," she explains, "so, whenever wished, Asriel always insisted that I turned around, covered my ears and closed my eyes. Because if I heard his wish, it would not come true, you see?"

How many years had passed, since they were all here; some days it seemed only yesterday, when Toriel and Asgore would sit here, snuggled up together and looking fondly on as the children played. Chara never seemed too interested in the echo flowers, but they liked to sit and swing their legs in the river, deliberately splashing Asriel to make him squeal. And now...now there is only Toriel, a familiar, yet no less sharp twinge of guilt and sorrow in her soul as she gazes up at the sparkling stones, wondering how many wishes had been made here, and how many had ever come true. Was it fair, for her to be the one who survived? For all the times she had failed her family and her people, could Toriel truly say that she deserved her place, her title? If she could have given her own life to change any of it, she would have, in the beat of a soul – but what good would wishing do now, when...

"Hey." Sans interrupts her reverie, and she sees his sockets soften at the edges as he shuffles a little closer, gently bumping the top of her arm with his shoulder, a brief but comforting touch, “if you never found out what they wished for, it could still come true, right?” Toriel smiles and nods, grateful for his unspoken understanding that no more needs to be said, that now is not the time to discussing such matters. “Then I guess maybe _we_ should make a wish. Since we're here.”

"I suppose we ought to honour the tradition." Toriel closes her eyes, out of habit more than anything; she has naturally wished for many things inside of this room and out of this room, though with diminishing hopes over the years that any of them would come true. But now, she wishes that Frisk, wherever they may be, is safe, and happy, and loved. She wishes for peace, for the strength to help the Underground find its way again – for all his faults, she realises, Asgore had held onto that hope, even if it ended up destroying him, for the sake of his people – _her_ people. She wishes to preserve that hope for them, and for herself, wherever she may find it – perhaps even in moments just like this one, when she opens her eyes to the gently amused twinkle in Sans' sockets, and smiles sheepishly back as she wonders how long he has been looking at her.

"That looked like some intense wishing there. I thought for a sec you'd fallen asleep and I was gonna have to carry you back to the castle."

Toriel lets out an undignified snort of laughter, pressing a hand to her muzzle at that rather sweet yet hilariously improbable image. "You would carry _me_? Oh, Sans – as generous as it is of you to offer, I'm afraid I must question whether you have the _backbone_ for such a task."

"Are you calling me _spineless_?"

"Come, now – do not _skullk_ with me." Finally recovering from their mutual fits of laughter, she manages to ask: "Did you make a wish, too?"

"Might've done," Sans replies, elusive again, but this time shooting her a wink so as to leave no doubt as to the answer. “I can't tell you, Tori – else it won't come true, remember?”

“I would never ask you to. I was simply curious if you had considered wishing for a new telescope,” she smirks, unable to resist teasing, "as you seem to be having some trouble keeping that one clean."

" _Brutal_ , Tori. You really _goat_ me there." Sans winces, making her giggle as he clutches dramatically at his shirt, as though mortally wounded. "That's okay, though – the sweet thing is, you can see most of the constellations right here. See that up there?" He points up to the ceiling, Toriel's eyes following to the biggest, brightest stone illuminating the river. "We call that one the Tem Star. Or, to give it its full title, uh... _Temmius Ijustmadethatupicus_."

They continue in a similar vein, tracing out imaginary images in the sparkling stones – a hot dog here, a snail over there, a smiling face before they start to become increasingly specific and nonsensical, making up ridiculous "facts" to make each other laugh. The distance between them seems to grow increasingly smaller, leaning in closer together for warmth – or perhaps simply because they want to, and Toriel cannot help but be grateful that they are a safe distance away for the echo flowers to pick them up. Not because they are saying anything that ought not to be repeated; but simply because, after a lifetime of the entire Underground knowing all her personal affairs, there are some moments – like the way Sans' head falls back against her shoulder when he yawns in the middle of telling her all about the long and complex history of the River Person's Belt, and remains there until they depart – that Toriel would like to keep for herself.

Perhaps the stars above them are not the genuine article, but looking up at their sparkle, all of the hope and promise of wishes made and those yet to be fulfilled that bounces off of the river, shining down on them, Toriel cannot imagine anything brighter – or more beautiful.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading, feedback is always appreciated! <3


	15. Rainy Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "Your OTP on a rainy day. How do they spend the time? Cuddling up with a movie? Playing video games? Watching the rain?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoaaa, we're halfway there~ So just so you guys know, I'm gonna be taking a little break from this challenge – so I'm not sure when the next update will be, but I'll still be working on stuff in the meantime! (and it'll uh...probably still be Soriel, because I'm literally incapable of writing anything else, it would seem) and I 100% intend to finish this thing...I mean, technically I've probably already failed the challenge since it's been a LOT longer than 30 days, lmao. But still, staying determined etc!! \o/ 
> 
> anyway, enough rambling – have a thing! So um...a few little bits of innuendo might have slipped into (heh) this one, but dw it's not gonna get too lewd, strictly PG13 up in here (or sorry, I guess, depending on your perspective). As always, I hope you guys enjoy and I'd love to know your thoughts!! <3

Sans can hear the rain beating down on the roof again.

Okay, it's probably not actually rain – because they're underground – just the general damp of Waterfall dripping down onto the top of his sentry hut. But for some reason today it really sounds like it, a louder, more insistent thrumming over his head that eventually gets too distracting to ignore. Reluctantly, Sans puts down _Cars Cooler Than You_ to step outside of his post to see if there's anything going on, but everything looks just the same as normal, and he can't see where the water's coming from as he squints up at the top of the cave. 

Shrugging, he turns to go back inside – only to jump as he realises someone's beaten him to it, and he finds himself looking into a pair of big, blank eyes.

" _Whoa_ – hey, kid, where'd you come from? You almost made me jump outta my skin there."

The monster now occupying Sans' post doesn't laugh, or smile, or seemingly react in any way; he recognises them from around Snowdin, but they don't look too good – they're startlingly pale, a dull, washed-out grey from scales to sweater, like something's drained all the colour out of them, and those eyes – they're huge, and _empty_ , a pure white void of nothingness. For a moment, Sans isn't even sure if they can see him, still not responding when he tilts his head questioningly. He's about to ask if they're okay or need him to call someone or something when they finally speak: 

"You forgot your umbrella."

"Umbrella?" Sans blinks, but when he glances back down it's there: a red umbrella, neatly folded on the counter. That...definitely wasn't there before, and he's been looking at the kid the whole time, and they also don't seem to have any arms. "Uh...thanks, but this isn't mine –"

He starts to push it back towards the kid – but right before he touches it the umbrella disappears, right before his eye sockets. Sans looks back at them, brow bone starting to crease into a frown – okay, he appreciates a good prank, but something is definitely off with this kid, and it doesn't help that they just keep _staring_ at him.

"Heh – okay, buddy, good one, you got me," he says, forcing a chuckle just to break the silence. "But I gotta get back to work,” – not something he thought he'd be saying seriously any time soon, but apparently some things _can_ still surprise him – “and you should probably be going back to...”

"You should be careful in the rain," the kid interrupts – and suddenly their positions are reversed and Sans is back in his hut, but they're still looking at...no, almost _through_ him, until he swears he can feel the energy seeping out of his soul just from looking into the blank expanse of their eyes, and then the tiniest of smiles appears on their otherwise expressionless face. “You might slip, and fall...” Their voice takes on a lighter, almost sing-song tone, “and then maybe, no one remembers you at all...”

"Uh..." Before Sans can ask what the hell _that's_ supposed to mean, the kid's skipping away, fading into the darkness of the adjoining cavern without falling over like they normally do. Sans' magic twists uncomfortably in his nonexistent gut – he already knows something, somewhere, is very wrong, and before he can consider the consequences he's heading after them, into the cave where it's too dark to see but he can just make out the rhythmic _plop, plop, plop_ of their footsteps, as the dull thrumming of the rain grows louder.

He stumbles out of the cave as the dark gives way to sudden, harsh light, blinking as his sockets adjust – no sign of the kid, and he's in...Hotland? _That's_ definitely not right, unless he's just taken a shortcut without meaning to, but – but he can't worry about that now because he's just spotted where the rain's coming from: a great, gaping _crack_ in the sky, right outside the lab. Glimpses of some kind of swirling, unknown dark energy peek through from the other side, while the rain just keeps on pouring through the gaps, down over the city.

"The hell...?" For a moment, Sans can't move – and it's not exaggerated laziness, he _actually can't move_ , paralysed by the confusion and unease pounding in his soul as he stares up at the...he doesn't know what to call it, portal? But everyone's acting so _normal_ , crowds bustling through on their way to MTT or the CORE like any other day, as if they haven't even noticed. Sans' sockets widen as he sees one girl – a _fire elemental_ – about to pass straight under the downpour.

"Hey – _kid_!" Finally breaking out of his stupor, he moves towards her, already reaching out ready to pull her out of the way with his magic if he has to. "Watch out for the –"

But she doesn't even glance around, just keeps right on walking, straight through the rain –and comes out totally unscathed, without so much as a spurt of steam as she carries on talking on her phone, happily oblivious to Sans staring after her like a slack-jawed bonehead. It didn't even _touch_ her, how is that – but  he's sure feeling it, standing right under the crack as the rain soaks through his sweater. Sans pulls up his hood, but it barely makes any difference, the onslaught relentless as water splashes into his sockets, blurring his vision until he shakes it from his skull. This is insane, they've never seen _anything_ like this before , it's – where's Alphys? He has to find her, to get to the lab, he has to –

" _Sans..._ "

Sans doesn't recognise the voice through the portal – a dry, distorted rasp, like something from another dimension, something that hasn't spoken in centuries – but he _knows_ it, somewhere in the icy stab of fear that freezes him through to his soul. Instinctively, he takes a few steps backwards, out of the rain, but the crack is widening and through the rain, a hand emerges, stark and white, grasping at the edges of Hotland's maroon sky.

" _Sans – I'm still here..._ "

"What – _who_ –" Before he can even begin to process what's happening, the hands are on him – skeletal hands, he realises, not that much bigger than Sans' own, but much more powerful, binding his wrists together with pulsating, powerful magic as they start to drag him back into the rain, creeping steadily closer towards the void.

Sans struggles, fighting to free himself with every last bit of strength and magic and _anything_ in his soul from this – it doesn't matter who it is, whatever's telling him he remembers those hands, because he can already feel it's not enough, there's no way he can win, his feet scrambling and splashing uselessly through the puddles before a final tug lifts him right off the ground and into the air.

" _Help!_ " someone screams – and Sans realises it's him, a terrified, broken yelp he didn't even know he could make, a plea to the people below or _anyone_ who might be able to hear him, even though he already knows it's too late – nobody so much as glances up, they can't see any of it, can't save him from the hands pulling him further and further away and towards the other side. “Anyone – help me, _please_...”

_"I need you..."_ The voice is so much closer now, he feels it echoing around the inside of his skull, like an impending invasion, _"here, with me..."_

" _No –_ " Sans' last shout is torn from him, ripped from his soul and lost to the void as he's falling, falling through into rain, into nothing, dark, darker – he can't see, can't summon any magic, can't even scream as one of the hands slides up to cup his jaw, holding him almost tenderly _,_ a thumb stroking along his cheekbone.

" _You're doing so well, Sans,_ " the voice croons, as the rain – it's coming down like bullets, cold and sharp and pouring into his mouth, his sockets, his ribcage, pain searing through his increasingly weakening soul like nothing he's ever felt before, and Sans _can't_ , he's failed, he's not going to make it...

“ _...so well...just remember...you have to stay –“_

Sans wakes with a start, jerking bolt upright and gasping for the air he doesn't technically need. He's...in bed – a dream, okay, but it's never _just_ a  dream. He rubs hazily at his sockets, wiping away some of the sweat starting trickling down the side of his skull as his breathing slowly returns to normal. He can still feel them – that voice, those hands, as he glances quickly down at himself to make sure they're not still there before reflexively drawing in, hunching up under the covers and hugging his knees for comfort like a baby bones, as much of an idiot as he feels doing it. Maybe that's what happened, in some timeline long forgotten – or maybe it was some kind of warning, and he can still hear that _goddamn_ rain, still beating against the window...

Right – because they're on the surface now, and sometimes it rains here. It's totally normal. It's natural. It's not a sign that existence as they know it is crumbling around them, Sans reminds himself – they're safe here, safer than they've ever been. Papyrus is safe. Toriel is...not here, he realises, as he reaches out automatically for her comforting warmth and grasps at empty sheets. But that doesn't mean she's – Sans' phone buzzes on the bedside table and he turns immediately to grab it, blinking down at the message on the screen: 

_Good morning, sleepybones! (LOL.) I hope this does not wake you. I have just gone into town to pick up a few groceries – call me if there is anything we need! I will see you very soon. Lots of love, Toriel. ]:-)_

– followed by about five lines of hearts, since Frisk has recently introduced her to something called emojis, but they make Sans grin down at his phone, relief settling over him that she's okay. Not that there's any logical reason she wouldn't be, but...well, he wouldn't want her to get caught out there for too long, in all this rain, so now seems like a good time to roll out of bed and relocate to the living room until she gets back.

He's just sprawled out comfortably on the couch, TV turned up maybe just a little louder than normal to mask the sound of the rain, when there's a familiar tapping at the door, but before Sans can get it Toriel bursts in, forgoing their traditional joke probably on account of the several grocery bags clutched to her chest.

"Hello, I am back! But do not touch me!" she announces, intriguingly. "I am all wet!"

“Not usually a problem,” Sans quips, winking at her over the back of the couch before he can help himself, and his smirk widens into a bigger, goofy grin as he takes a moment to appreciate the sight of her; more than a little bedraggled, her usually pristine white fur matted and sticking up in spots as a stray raindrop rolls off her nose, and she's the most beautiful thing he's seen since...well, probably since the last time she came home.

"My goodness," Toriel sighs, dumping the groceries on the floor before giving herself a little shake, a few droplets spraying over the couch and Sans' skull, “it is raining...dogs and cats out there? And now," she adds mournfully, "the whole house is going to smell like wet goat."

“But I love wet goat.” Sans hops up onto the couch so he's strategically positioned to pull her into a hug as she walks by, nuzzling into her neck and breathing in her familiar, comforting, musky scent, intensified by the damp of the rain. "It's a classic. Vintage 20XX – can't be beat."

Toriel giggles, giving him a quick squeeze back despite her earlier orders and pressing a kiss to Sans' nose hole. "Far be it from me to question one's preferences, but...I believe, technically speaking, _you_ do not even have a nose."

"But I _nose_ what I likes," he grins, and she snorts with laughter, warm against the top of his skull before letting out a little squeak when he nips gently at the sensitive spot just under her ear.

"My, my – someone is feeling _frisky_ today, I see." Toriel takes a step back, almost out of Sans' reach, but there's a promising gleam in her eye as she takes his hands in hers before letting go to gather up the bags. "At least give me a chance to put the groceries away first, hmm?"

Defeated – not for the first time – by his own laziness, Sans flops back down onto the couch as she starts taking them through to the kitchen. "Where's the kid, anyway?" he calls after her, glancing back at the door – usually by now they'd have made their presence known by covering their eyes and insisting that really, they were _super_ happy for Toriel and Sans, but could they maybe go and be gross somewhere else?

"Oh, Frisk has gone to play with their little friend. The one in the, ah...striped shirt? Running through the puddles – it is sweet, but I told them not to stay out too long. I do not want them catching a cold, after all..."

It's just a coincidence – not even a big one, because Frisk is always with that kid – but the image of big, soulless eyes stirs in Sans' mind as a chill runs down his spine, and he must shiver a little because Toriel narrows her eyes at him as she comes back through the kitchen door, her 'I know something's up' expression falling somewhere between concerned and suspicious.

"Sans – normally I would realise the irony of such a question, but are you _sure_ you have gotten enough sleep? You do look a little...pale."

"Tori, you know I'm a skeleton, right? We don't really tan."

She just tuts at that, making her way over to sit beside Sans on the couch and gently placing the back of her hand across his skull, as though checking his temperature. "I do hope _you_ are not coming down with something. You would tell me if you felt unwell, would you not?"

"Yeah, Tori - don't worry about it, seriously, I feel fine. I just..." Sans hesitates – sometimes he wishes she didn't have to be quite so observant, but he doesn't want to make her worry, her eyes sharp but soft as they gaze intently into his sockets, tender and concerned. "I just sorta... had a bad dream earlier, that's all."

"Ah, I see." Toriel nods, her face softening with understanding – it's nothing new, for either of them, and sometimes Frisk wakes up in the middle of the night too and ends up crawling into their bed, nestled between Sans and Toriel until they feel safe again. She scoots closer, her hand falling from his skull to rest on his patella. "Do you want to tell me about it?"

"No." He _really_ doesn't, but it still comes out a little more bluntly than he intended; Toriel flinches and he immediately feels a pang of guilt, putting his hand on top of hers and stroking over the fur on her knuckles apologetically. "I mean...not much to tell, you know how it is, right? How about we just relax and watch some..." He'd almost forgotten about the TV; as they both look towards it, the words **I'LL PROVE YOU'VE BEEN CHEATING WITH A HORSE MONSTER** are rolling across the screen in neon lettering under two arguing humans and a shifty-looking Aaron. Toriel shoots him a newly concerned  ' _this_ is what you do when I'm not here?' look  and Sans grins sheepishly back, clicking onto the next channel, "uh, not this?"

She smiles, fond and a little bemused as she rises to her feet. “If you are sure – in that case, perhaps you should rest your bones and find us some more...stimulating viewing, and I shall make us some hot cocoa, yes?”

“Okay.” Sans sinks back into the cushions as Toriel rubs her paw absently over the top of his skull as she goes, flicking through the channels mostly just to distract himself until she reappears with two steaming mugs. She sets them down on the coffee table and plants herself in the slightly-too-small space between Sans and the sofa arm, so they end up with his legs lying across her lap and her ear tucked against his skull, soft fur lightly tickling his cheekbone. Sans leaves the channel on the first one to elicit a murmur of interest from her – some nature documentary, since he doesn't really care what they watch as long as it's drowning out the rain while they sip their cocoa, smooth and rich and almost as warm and comforting as Toriel's arms around him. Sans leans his head against her shoulder and gently lifts her ear, setting it free so it flops down and over the top of his skull like the best, if a little damp, kind of blanket; she makes a soft noise somewhere between a chuckle and a contented sigh, nuzzling her cheek against his skull in return, and he doesn't ever want to move – even more so than usual.

"I always did wonder," she murmurs, "when we first met, how it is that you and Papyrus are able to eat and drink without it, well, going straight through you. But I suppose you must simply absorb it with your magic, yes?"

"Pretty much." Sans hasn't really thought about it too much, since the first time he freaked Frisk out by 'bleeding' ketchup through his ribcage. It's kind of messy, though, so he tries to save it for special occasions. "You're the teacher here, Tori."

He feels her smile. "History is my field of expertise, not biology. The two rarely overlap...although perhaps it may be interesting to branch out sometime. Now, what else is on?"

Sans is about to make a crack along the lines of expecting her to be _pretty_ well acquainted with skeleton anatomy by now, but he's distracted as the credits roll and Toriel stiffens when he clicks onto the next channel and a familiar face – or it would be, except now it's a pixelated goat face, crowned with plastic horns and draped in a sequin-spangled imitation of Toriel's royal robes.

She sits up, lifting her head and draining the last few drops of her cocoa before placing the mug back on the coffee table and blinking bemusedly at the screen. "Is that Mettaton? Is – is he supposed to be...?"

"Oh boy, I _remember_ this." Sans has sat through the “creative reinterpretation” of the story of the royal family a couple times before – as was inevitable, when the Underground only had three channels, all owned by MTT, and you lived with a _very_ dedicated fan – but he never imagined he'd appreciate it quite like  this, unconvincingly stifling a snicker as Toriel scrunches up her nose like she's smelled something horrible, her expression flickering through a whole spectrum of emotions from incredulous to embarrassed to indignant as 'Asgore' (same outfit, plus a furry yellow beard) wheels into the scene.

"Goat wife!" he declares, dramatically waving a plastic trident clutched in a furry glove. "Spare me your incessant bleatings! It is clear to me now that there is only one solution to our plight – we will defeat the humans by..."

"How is he playing _both_ of –"

"Sssh, Tori, just –wait for it..."

"...putting on a _show_!" Metta-Asgore rips off his royal robes to reveal a sparkling pink tuxedo as a pounding disco beat kicks in, pirouetting into centre stage while spotlights flare, glitter cascades from the ceiling and he starts to sing: " _Ohhh – to be king..._ "

"I did _not_ authorise this," Toriel mutters, shaking her head at the screen and pursing her lips in disapproval, although the corners of her mouth start to twitch when she attempts to shoot Sans a warning glare. "Do not – don't you _dare_ laugh. Is this really the image the Underground had in my absence?”

"Who's laughing?" It's really not easy keeping a straight face when your bone structure gives the illusion of a permanent smile anyway, but he manages it, for maybe half a second. "This is _history_ , Tori, right? I feel like I should be taking notes."

Toriel _hmph_ s in frustration, blush increasingly blooming across her cheeks as Mettaton keeps singing – now somehow duetting with himself. “Alright, that is quite enough – give me that.” She makes a grab for the remote, but Sans has already wriggled off of her lap and over to the opposite end of the sofa for safety.

"It's all yours." He tosses the remote back to her, but grabs it with his magic before she can catch it, levitating it into the air just out of her reach; Toriel squeals in outrage, scrambling after it like a cat chasing a laser pointer as it dances over her head – until a devious smile crosses her lips and she pounces on Sans instead, seizing him by the ribs and tickling mercilessly until he's laughing and flailing too much to hold onto it, the remote clattering to the floor behind the sofa.

Sans struggles to fight back and they wrestle half-heartedly, laughing and breathless until Toriel pins him effortlessly, catching both of Sans' hands in hers against the arm of the sofa and smirking down at him, her fur ruffled and her eyes and cheeks glowing – it's not even close to a fair fight, really, but he's more than okay with losing as they end up melting into a kiss, soft and teasing at first before turning more intense, Toriel letting Sans up so he can wind his arms around her neck and pull her closer, the unique sensation of their magic intertwining as her lips explore his upper jaw tingling right through from his cranium to his phalanges. He runs his fingers through her fur, tugging on her ears just a little bit, and she lets out a soft, surprised but appreciative little grunt against his mouth that goes right to his soul, which somersaults in anticipation as they briefly break apart.

"Y'know," Sans says, waggling his brow bone suggestively up at her, "maybe you were right, after all. Maybe I _do_ need to go back to bed."

"Oh, _do_ you now," Toriel murmurs, arching a knowing eyebrow in response with a familiar twinkle of mock-exasperated affection in her eye. “But what about...” she nods pointedly back towards the TV, “you terribly important _history lesson_ , hmm?”

They turn to stare at the screen for a moment, the robotic warble of double-tracked Mettatons maybe _kind_ of a mood-killer, he'll admit; when Toriel catches Sans' sockets again she's the first to start laughing as they fall against each other, foreheads resting briefly together until she gets up and retrieves the remote from the back of the couch, mercifully cutting Mettaton off mid-song.

“Who needs history,” he replies, grinning as he snaps double finger-guns at her, “when you got...his- _Tori_ , am I right?”

She snorts even louder at that, her face lighting up as she clasps her hands together with delight. “Oh, but of _course_! I must remember that one for class. I assure you that my lessons are much more his- _Tori-_ cally accurate...and do not typically involve such a _Metta-ton_ of noise.” Sans chuckles too, nodding approvingly as she settles back against the sofa, scooping up her book and reading glasses from the table. “Now, if you do not mind, I think my ears could use a little rest before Frisk gets home.”

"You goat it." Looking around for some reading material, Sans spots a crumpled magazine under the table; he reaches to pull it out, looking down at a familiar red sports car, and –

– _lifeless eyes, blocking the entrance to his sentry hut; that umbrella; the sound of the rain –_

_No_ – Sans blinks the memory away, fading just as he feels a big, soft, reassuring paw on his back, a sigh of relief and pleasure escaping as he relaxes into Toriel's touch, rubbing slowly, soothingly along his spine and massaging his vertebrae through his shirt. He's not there – he's here, he's with her, kneeling on the floor beside him as he realises he must've frozen up, which isn't good, he needs to get a hold of his bones because Toriel will worry...she always does, he can see it in her eyes as he looks back up to her, but there's also so much strength there, a steadfast love and acceptance and understanding and when Sans eventually manages a smile back to reassure her, he realises he isn't faking it.

He brushes the old magazine aside and picks up the astronomy book underneath it with one hand, placing the other in Toriel's and squeezing gratefully, and it's enough, both of them settling back on the sofa with their hands interlinked and neither feeling the need to say anything.

It's still raining, still beating down on the roof, rivulets running down the windows and blurring the view outside; but like this, leaning back into Toriel's warmth as he pores over the galaxies, focusing on the intricately plotted constellations and thinking about all the stars he's still got to show her after he cleans up that old telescope, a dizzying, terrifying, exhilarating expanse of questions and possibilities stretching out right above them, Sans feels like maybe he can handle getting a little wet every once in a while.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mmm, wet goat. (I'm SORRY it's just too easy >.>;; )
> 
> thank you for reading and feedback is always appreciated! <3

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading and feedback is always appreciated! <3


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